Ezreal: A True Champion
by vOceanic
Summary: A year after the vicious attacks on the Institute of Justice, peace seems to reign supreme. However, corruption in the frozen north is spreading southward, leaving darkness and confusion in its wake. When its negative energy begins weakening the Institute's healers, Ezreal is sent to stop the icy menace. The darkness is strong, and the evil greater than any imagine.
1. Dark Greetings

By the time Ezreal made it back to mid lane, fatigue began to tug on his muscles. The game had been going on for a long time already. Tension mounted as the teams became more and more deadlocked – the kills were even, and neither group of Champions could take the other's inhibitors.

A bead a sweat rolled from Ezreal's temple to his tightly-clenched jaw. "Ryland. Wards? We need vision on river."

"Right, right. Sorry." His companion glanced at him apologetically. Ezreal could read the nervousness in Ryland's stormy gray-green eyes, and sighed internally. Having a nervous Support was potentially fatal.

"Relax," he muttered from the side of his mouth as he began firing on the wave of minions in mid. Lissandra was clearing top, he knew. Their jungler, Cho'Gath, was securing red and getting vision on dragon, and Darius was busily slaughtering minions at the base of their tier-one bottom tower.

Maybe that's why Ryland's nerves were running so high. Being on the same team as your father couldn't be easy, especially not when your father was a competitive combatant like Darius. Victory had come so easily to the Hand of Noxus in real warfare that he didn't take losing a game easily.

Ezreal kept an eye on Ryland as he edged to the front of the minion wave, ignoring their tiny shots of spherical energy. He unhitched a Vision Ward from his belt and placed it in the bush with shaking hands.

And yelped.

Ezreal flinched when an enormous green ball of slime launched itself towards Ryland. "Run!" he shouted. He wanted to Arcane Shift, but decided to save it. Ryland was knocked back by the behemoth. He flashed.

"Come to me!"

"I'm trying!"

From the corner of his eye, Ezreal saw Darius emerge behind him, swinging his axe. It sliced through Zac's hide in long, smooth strokes. Lissandra followed soon after.

"Caitlyn's behind him!" Ryland called, and pointed behind Zac's quivering form. Ezreal made eye contact with the other Carry. She looked decidedly smug. Nami sat beside her, tail-fins shivering with anticipation.

"Where's Cho'Gath?"

"He's coming," Darius called. He and Lissandra were struggling to keep Zac and Volibear at bay, the latter who had come charging from behind at Ezreal. Ryland released his Void Wolf – it pinned Volibear down, stopping his assault. Then the Support launched himself in front of Ezreal, making it difficult for Caitlyn to aim her long-range attacks.

That's when Cho'Gath came roaring down mid with Homeguard boots, incredibly speedy and enormously terrifying. He screeched to a halt in front of the team and roared so loudly the ground shook.

"Go get Caitlyn! We've got this!" Darius called. He gestured with his axe towards the slim retreating form of the sniper. Ezreal hesitated, unwilling to go past the tanky front line. But Ryland tugged his shirt sleeve.

"No one's focusing us," he murmured. "Come on."

Nervously, he and Ryland crept through the river. The sound from Lissandra, Darius and Cho'gath pounding on Volibear and Zac hurt his ears. And where was the enemy's mid?

Ezreal found out when he walked into an unwarded bush and got a Shockblast to the face. He staggered back, his face tingling.

"Oh shi –" Ryland began, throwing a ward into the nearest bush, revealing Jayce, Caitlyn, and Nami. He and Ezreal darted past Nami's bubble and began focusing Caitlyn. She bobbed and weaved like a snake, constantly shifting behind Jayce.

"Just get Jayce!" Ryland shouted, irritated. The Defender of Tomorrow smirked and leapt in the air, only to bring his hammer crashing onto Ryland's back. Ryland loosed a Void Wolf to slow his assault even as he fell to the ground.

Ezreal gritted his teeth, focused on dueling Caitlyn and Nami. He sidestepped the surging tidal wave that came roaring towards him and countered with a Trueshot Barrage. Nami went down first, flopping. Then Caitlyn.

His vision pulsing with red, he turned back to Ryland's struggle with Jayce.

Ryland's body was glowing white, pulsing with energy. Ezreal bit his lip. The shift between his sets of abilities made him vulnerable – a bold move.

He Arcane Shifted towards Jayce to distract him and fired a Mystic Shot squarely at his hips, trying to give Ryland time. The playboy staggered back, but quickly turned his attention to Ryland.

Both Ezreal and his Support gritted their teeth, bracing for the final blow.

Then Darius pulled Jayce away and immediately brought his axe down. Jayce's cry of surprise was cut short by a wet splatter.

Silenced reigned for the first time in the past hour. It left Ezreal's ears ringing harshly.

Darius cocked his head. He looked ghoulish – his dark, Noxian armor was spattered with blood and gore, his dark hair matted with remnants of his foes. Though the carnage on Summoner's Rift wasn't permanent, it could still be visually devastating.

He reached down for Ryland's hand. After a moment, Ryland took it and allowed Darius to pull him to his feet.

"Good job out there," was all Darius said. He turned and walked away.

Ryland bit his lip. He knew the three-person ambush was his fault for not having enough ward coverage. If Darius hadn't appeared, the trade would've gone disastrously.

Better not to dwell on it. Ezreal tapped his shoulder. "Come on, let's get bot. The game's almost over."

The rest of the match was practically effortless. Since the stalemate had dragged on for so long, the death timers had already reached more than a minute. It was simple for Ryland to buff Ezreal's attack speed, allowing them to take bottom turret and inhibitor. Darius took mid. Though Cho'Gath and Lissandra had perished in the exchange, it was still a good trade.

Ezreal's team had just started wrangling the Baron Nashor when the enemy nexus exploded. A surrender.

The Prodigal Explorer clasped Ryland's shoulder as they made their way towards the exit of The Rift. Despite the victory, Ryland still looked down, and was obviously upset by his mistakes. Aside from the ambush, they had failed to secure dragon a few times because he was out of wards at crucial moments.

"Ward coverage is something you always have to work on," Ezreal murmured. "It's alright, man."

Ryland sighed harshly, running his fingers through his night-black hair. "I almost got you killed."

"There will always be wins and losses." Ezreal smiled. "That's what Soraka would tell you."

"Support's a lot of responsibility, isn't it? If I mess up, you die, and we all know the carry's the most important."

"Hmmm?" Ezreal frowned. He was listening, but half of his mind was occupied by thoughts of Lux. That match had been the last one of the day. Now he was free to be with the woman he loved. Aloud, he said, "It's a team game. There are five people for a reason. Your job does have a lot of responsibility, but I wouldn't say I'm the most important person…everyone has to do well, you know?"

"Yeah." Ryland's smile was wistful. "Thanks for being understanding."

"No problem. Want to get dinner with Lux and me?"

"I'll see if Kat's up to it."

"How's she been lately? I haven't seen her."

"She's been a little upset that she's not a top pick of the Summoners right now. I can kind of understand, but there's so many Champions…"

"Some of us have to go unpicked, yeah." Ezreal readjusted his goggles. "That sucks, though. I think I'd be happy if I wasn't chosen as often."

"She just gets bored. And I think she might be jealous that I'm more popular right now." Ryland blushed slightly. "Anyways, I'll go get her. Where do you want to meet?"

"In the mood for Central Fountain?" Ezreal yawned and stretched. He waved to a group of Summoners passing by with a smile.

"Definitely. See you in about an hour."

"Wait a sec." Ezreal tugged the sleeve of Ryland's Rift costume. The clothiers had toned it down a little bit – he wasn't entirely clad in armor, and his clothing sported more silver than black. "Seriously. Don't let your mistakes get to you."

Ryland blinked. "Wh –"

"I know you dwell on things. It makes you play worse. Just relax tonight, alright?"

"Yes, sir."

Ezreal snorted. Ryland hurried away, as eager to see Katarina as he was to see Lux. Though Ez was tired, the thought of Lux's blue eyes made him walk a little faster.

* * *

"Zandred, you have someone to see you, sir."

Zandred looked up from the list of Summoners on his desk to find Erinae tugging nervously on the end of her hair. His apprentice was currently in the process of growing her short blonde hair out, and now looked like some incredibly feminized version of Ezreal. Her bangs were constantly flopping into her eyes, something that Zandred loved to tease her about.

Zandred couldn't focus on the state of her tresses just then. The look on her face told him that whoever the visitor was, they weren't bringing good tidings.

"Very well. Send them in."

When the visitor came in, Zandred had to clamp his lips very tightly shut to keep a gasp contained. Shock reverberated throughout his skull, tingling in his bones.

The figure in front of him was a man, a barbarian in the same vein as Tryndamere most likely.

He was tall and broadly built, boasting muscles as large as a boar.

But his skin was tinted a frosty blue, and his black beard had traces of mossy green in it. His eyes were so black that the irises had disappeared into a great, benighted mass.

Seeing Zandred's look of surprise, the visitor hurriedly put his right fist over his left shoulder – the Demacian standard of peace.

Zandred steepled his fingers, trying to quiet his thudding heart. "Ah…hello. How may I help you?"

The barbarian took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice grated like two large boulders grinding together. "The North is breaking. The land of daylight has become night again...We couldn't fight it, and we are a proud people. I am the last of them. They tell me to come here for help."

The hair on Zandred's neck began to prickle. _Oh my, this is almost never good_.

"What's wrong?"

"It is coming. It is coming here," the barbarian sighed, then collapsed.

Erinae gaped down at their fallen visitor, soft mouth open in shock. She looked to Zandred, mouth still unclosed. "What do we do?"

Zandred shook his head sadly. _Ah, well, peace never lasts forever._ "Bring me Tryndamere, Ashe, Lissandra and Sejuani. Then bring me the top ten Summoners."

"Anyone else?"

"Oh, yes." Zandred put his head in his hands._ It is coming_... "Bring me Ezreal and Ryland, too. I'm sure we'll need them."


	2. Conflicts of Interest

Ryland headed for the Support Quarters, making his way through the crush of Champions and Summoners. He was beginning to recognize some of the Summoners who favored Supports – Patoy and Darker and Cody. They lifted their hands in greeting as he passed by.

His heart beat faster at the thought of Katarina. Though still allied with Noxus, she'd taken to staying with the Supports lately. It was well known that their Quarters were the most peaceful ones at the Institute, and Katarina, of late, needed peace.

Ryland felt a twinge of guilt. He knew not being summoned was weighing heavily on Kat, and his popularity bothered him. He wished they could fight together more than anything.

He caught sight of her brilliant scarlet hair and hurried towards her.

She was sitting on one of the fountains outside the Support Quarters, meditating. He gently brushed her shoulder. She opened her emerald eyes, regarding him cooly.

"Ah. Did you win any?"

"A few." Ryland perched next to her, enjoying the sound of water behind them. "I'm terrible at warding, though."

"A lot of people are. It doesn't help that some lower level Summoners haven't even heard of wards."

"I almost threw." Ryland looked away. "Ezreal brought it back around. Him and Darius."

"Your dad's pretty strong, yeah." Katarina stretched and yawned, catlike.

Ryland hesitated. "How are you?"

"Bored as always."

"I'm sorry, Kat."

"Not your fault I'm not popular anymore." Kat snorted and closed her eyes again. "I should probably start hanging out with Viktor."

"It's not that…"

"Yeah, yeah. I had some Summoners explain it to me. 'The metagame isn't favorable towards fragile, melee mids.' If they want me, they'll be pressured into picking Fizz the Fishboy instead. Sad day when ocean life trumps assassination skills."

Ryland winced at her biting sarcasm. "Is there anything I can do to help? I'm not sure how to handle this…"

"Like I said, not your fault." Kat's eyes met his, bright green to darker gray. "It's just – I'm so used to doing stuff, you know?"

"Yeah."

"I've been doing stuff ever since I join the military. A lot of Champions are perfectly content to sit around here, getting free food and board. But I was always taught that you should work for what you get."

"I know, I know." Ryland pulled her closer for a hug. She flinched, then softened. Having an overtly affectionate significant other wasn't something that came easily to her. Casual affection always exploded into passion in Noxus. Not so with Ryland.

"You're always so touchy feely," she growled.

"I'm an empath. I can't really help it." Ryland sighed. "Do you want to eat with Ezreal and Lux?"

"That'd be nice. I haven't seen much of Lux lately."

"Really?" Ryland's brow furrowed. "I thought she'd declined in popularity as well."

"She's been being really – what's the word – reclusive. I went to tap her on the shoulder the other day and she nearly punched me."

"That's…weird. Really weird. Is that normal?"

"Nah, she's usually really relaxed. I don't know. I haven't been able to talk to her." Kat put her head on her knees. The wistful, lonely look on her face hurt Ryland's heart.

"Fair enough. Let's go get ready." He put his hand around hers and pulled her upright. "I can carry you out here, even if I can't do it in a Rift match."

Kat smirked. "Sure you can. I bet I'm too heavy."

"Nope." Ryland lifted her on to his back. She hugged his neck, giggling. They ignored the looks of the passing Summoners, caught up in each other instead.

* * *

_I have this sinking feeling in my chest and I don't know why_, Ezreal thought. _It's usually Ryland who feels like this. _

He nervously rubbed his breastbone as he walked towards the Demacian Quarters. He passed Twisted Fate and LeBlanc, strolling casually arm in arm, and waved to them.

_Maybe I should put on my suit tonight…blasted thing's so uncomfortable_. The suit the Piltover scientists had constructed to regulate his magic powers rested beside his and Lux's bed in the Support Quarters. It looked almost like a futuristic diving suit, made of cold metal platelets with multicolored dials affixed to them. The whole thing was connected by thick, springy cables.

As ugly as it was, it worked. When Ezreal put it in, a calm feeling never failed to wash over him, soothing his mind and easing the tension in his muscles. The platelets somehow absorbed the extra energy his body was making, and diffused it into the air. If his powers were particularly hyperactive, the plates sometimes glowed an icy blue or topaz.

Before heading back to Piltover, the scientists had cautioned him to sleep in it whenever he felt strange, to prevent another Overflow.

Ezreal twitched. About six months ago, he'd died when his powers flared into a supernova, brought on by stress and anger. But somehow, through Ryland, he'd come back to life. Ryland infused Ezreal's body with healing empath energy, almost killing himself in the process. And if that wasn't enough to make someone your friend forever, Ezreal didn't know what was.

Lux had died, too. And again, Ryland had saved her.

_Maybe I should name my firstborn Ryland_, Ezreal thought idly. He figured even that wasn't enough to show his gratitude and sighed. _Ah well. Just working with him in the League seems to make him happy. He's really not that bad, but he's always so hard on himself…_

He tried to push the negative thoughts out of his mind as he neared the building where the Demacians were housed. The statue of Garamond seemed to smile at him in welcoming.

Lux stayed at the Support Quarters with him at night, but spent her days with her fellow Demacians, possibly to convince them that she hadn't defected from the military. Ezreal didn't know how convincing she was, given that her best friend was Katarina.

Still, after the Demacian assassination plot, Jarvan and Garen weren't saying a word about her loyalty. They had no room to talk.

Ezreal knocked on the door, then massaged his temples. There was no answer. _This headache...I might have to skip dinner and put the suit on now._

From the corner of his eye, he saw a slim form running towards him. The sinking feeling in his chest deepened into a cavern. Déjà vu threatened to engulf him.

He turned towards the girl jogging. Erinae, recognizable even with her ridiculously floppy hair.

She skidded to a stop in front of him and bowed deeply. "Venerable Summoner Zandred requests your presence."

"Now?" Ezreal closed his eyes. His temples were pulsing.

_I have to stay calm. I have to breathe_.

He forced himself to concentrate on Lux – her pretty blue eyes, her warm smile, her ribbon-soft lips parted in joy. He felt his heartrate slow, and his headache edged away, bit by bit.

"It's urgent." Erinae cocked her head. "I'd say pretty urgent."

"Where at?"

"His office." Erinae bowed again. "I'm seeking Ryland as well. Do you know where he is?"

"The Support Quarters most likely."

"Thank you. I'll be with you shortly."

When the minute Summoner jogged away, Ezreal rolled his eyes and reversed his path. Lux wasn't in the Demacian Quarters after all – she would have appeared almost immediately after his knock.

Ezreal blinked as realization washed over him. _Oh, God. I hope she's okay_. He fought the urge to run, knowing that if he did so, the air around his body would explode into yellow sparks. He settled for a fast walk, fighting to keep his breathing steady.

Ashe and Tryndamere studied the fallen barbarian. Zandred thought Ashe looked absolutely ravishing in her simple blue dress, her icy blonde hair tied back with a matching ribbon. Spending time outside of the Rift had feminized her, but despite her delicate looks, Zandred knew underestimating her strength would be fatal.

Tryndamere still looked the same, wearing his Rift costume minus his enormous, threatening blade.

Shock was clearly written across Ashe's face, but Tryndamere's visage was stony and inscrutable. Ashe murmured something in the Avarosan dialect. Tryndamere grunted and shook his head. He spoke a few guttural words. Ashe turned away from him, biting her lip.

Zandred waited patiently. The barbarian lying on the floor of his plushy office wasn't dead – his blue lips were slightly agape, and rugged snores were issuing from him. The smell of mildew was beginning to rise from his slumbering body. He'd sent Jatt and Turley, his other underlings, to get Soraka and Taric.

Zandred cleared his throat. "So, Ashe. Have you ever seen this sort of thing before?"

Ashe hurriedly shook her head. "I've heard rumors of it. They call it the Skelgarn. The Land-Seizer."

Zandred couldn't keep from frowning. "Skelgarn? I'm afraid I don't take your meaning."

Tryndamere stirred. "There's power up north, elemental energy. That's one of the reasons the competition between the Avarosan, Winter's Claw and Frostguard is so strong. Some of us vow to restrict the power, to protect the people. Others want to use it for personal gain. Like the Frostguard." Tryndamere's face grew dark. "Is Lissandra still here?"

"She is," Zandred said. After the Demacian/Noxian conflict, the idea of struggles between the Freljordian tribes filled him with panic. Sejuani, Lissandra, and Ashe didn't even pretend to have a truce the way Swain and Jarvan did. Conflict would be explosive.

If only Runeterra and Valoran understood just how difficult it was to run the Institute of War.

Still, Zandred kept his face and tone neutral, though with great effort. "I've summoned her as well as Sejuani. But tell me – what exactly is Skelgarn? This man came to my office for help, and I need information to help him."

Ashe hesitated, then breathed a shuddering sigh. Her frosty blue eyes took on a distant look. "Skelgarn. It's the deep power of the ice, the ice that corrupts. It emits a dark energy. Many tales say that Skelgarn causes corruption, chaos, decay. It spreads like a fungus and uses ordered energy to fuel it." Ashe bit her lip. "It's difficult to describe outside of the Freljordian dialect. I apologize."

"It's fine," Zandred murmured. His purple eyes intently traced the barbarian on the ground. The whole scene would've been almost comic – a huge, snoring man in raggedy clothing, sleeping on a clean carpet – if it weren't for Ashe and Tryndamere's utmost seriousness. "So, you believe the Skelgarn has somehow reached this man and…infected him? Is it contagious?"

"No one knows how it works," Tryndamere muttered. His eyes were blazing with a mixture of anger and worry. "It has to do with magic. The only people who can understand magic are the Piltover citizens."

"Ah." Zandred kneaded his temples. What was taking Erinae, Jatt and Turley so long? "I assure you, we will have more members of the League here shortly. If there's anything I've learned from these past few months, it's that information should be available to relevant parties as soon as possible."

"Did he say anything?" Tryndamere asked suddenly. He pointed at the barbarian.

"He said he was the last of his people and that it was coming from the north. I'm assuming 'it' meant the Skelgarn."

Tryndamere and Ashe whipped around to stare at him. Zandred felt his face flush.

"I take it that's not a good thing."

"He said it was coming?" Ashe's lips trembled before she composed herself. The haughty look of the Avarosan leader replaced any weakness on her face, contrasting sharply with her soft dress. "We will have problems then, Zandred."

"Aye," Tryndamere echoed. "Though I know not how to stop it."

They were interrupted by Ezreal bursting through the door, panting. "Is Lux okay?"

Zandred blinked. "I think so. I saw her this morning."

"Then why did you –" Ezreal caught a glimpse of the barbarian on the floor and flinched backwards. "What - ? What's happening?"

"Ezreal, you were a great studier of arcane history, correct?"

"Yes, I – I'm sorry for panicking." He blew out a long, slow breath. "I just couldn't find Lux and I assumed – "

"It's fine," Zandred said again. _I suppose I'll be saying that quite a bit in the coming days. I swear, all of these Champions are so neurotic sometimes._ "I called you here because you're a great studier of arcane occurrences and artifacts and the like. Have you heard of the Skelgarn?"

Ezreal leaned back on his heels. "Freljordian myth about the corruption of the land?"

"Correct. And this fellow appears to be suffering from it."

"I don't know how to heal him -" Ezreal's bright blue eyes were shimmering with panic. "I –"

"Please, relax, please." Zandred gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white. Their panic was contagious, even if the Skelgarn might not be. "We're going to wait for a few more people until we can make a consensus on what this fellow's affliction is and what to do about it."

Ashe and Tryndamere murmured to each other in the Avarosan dialect, their words sounding like clusters of consonants to Zandred's untrained ears. Ezreal was leaning against his office wall, doubtlessly trying to recall everything he'd ever heard about the Skelgarn. It was hard to believe that someone who looked like a brainless blonde creature was one of the top scholars in the world. Ezreal looked more likely to enjoy surfing and keg-stands than reading and writing books.

Sejuani eventually showed up. She scowled at the barbarian on the ground continuously, standing as far away from Ashe and Tryndamere as possible. Lissandra, too, appeared, struggling to get through Zandred's office door. The way she glided soundlessly across the ground was something Zandred knew he'd never get used to. Her face, hidden as it was by her cowl, was entirely unreadable.

Her skin was the same blue as the barbarian's, Zandred noted. _Interesting_.

Taric, Soraka and Ryland appeared together, looking worried.

"Right," Zandred said. "May I have your attention?"

They looked at him. Zandred felt his palms begin to sweat. _Those public-speaking classes haven't helped very much yet._

"This fellow arrived at my office about an hour ago. He said he was sent to the Institute of War to obtain help, and that he was the last of his people. Ashe and Tryndamere have suggested that his strange appearance –" Zandred's voice cracked. "- is caused by a negative entity called Skelgarn. The man also informed me that Skelgarn, whatever it may be, is headed southward."

Sejuani spat in Lissandra's general direction, scowling. "Aye, ye'd know all about that, wouldn't ya, ice witch?"

"I haven't been in Freljord for many months," Lissandra said serenely. "Any growth in Skelgarn can, unfortunately, not be attributed to me."

Ashe stepped forward. "It's slightly coincidental that the spread of Skelgarn would coincide with your plans –"

"I have no plans," Lissandra whispered. Her voice sent a shiver spiraling rapidly up Zandred's spine. "Besides, isn't this fellow a member of Tryndamere's former tribe? I see the barbarian's appearance as a potentially framing endeavor, to be quite frank, Venerable Summoner." Her voice was soft and sinuous as a creeping vine. The ice that formed her body had cooled the room significantly.

Soraka cleared her throat. Her golden eyes glimmered with worry. "May Taric and I begin administering healing aid? He may give us more information if he's conscious."

Zandred nodded. She and Taric crouched beside the comatose man. Taric opened the small sack he'd brought with him, rooting through it for vials of medicine, gems of power, and the like.

The Freljordians ignored them. "Lissandra, it's undeniable that you support the spread of Skelgarn the Corruptor." Ashe's voice rang with authority.

"Just as it's well known that you support peace, my dear lady." Lissandra's eerie smile was barely visible beneath her hood. "I thought the League was open to all ideological differences."

"Have you seen him?" Sejuani exploded, pointing furiously at the corrupted barbarian on the floor. He continued to snore peacefully. "Look! Look! You're supporting death! Decay! That's what your supporting, you –"

"Enough!" Zandred called, purple eyes blazing. "Enough. This isn't about what politics you support. I brought you all here to identify the problem. You have done as much. Now - "

"You said the Skelgarn was spreading southward," Tryndamere rumbled. "Depending on the spread, it could usurp anything from Demacia to Ionia."

"I am aware, Tryndamere." Zandred closed his eyes. "Would all the Freljordians conclude that the spread of Skelgarn is dangerous?"

Sejuani nodded, still snarling. Ashe and Tryndamere both said "Aye" softly. Lissandra said nothing.

"Then, it is necessary that we to find a way to stop it."

Ashe paused. "We? Will the Institute of War really interfere?"

"We're already trying to unite all of Valoran and eventually Runeterra." Zandred frowned. "I see little difference between doing that and staving up a potential natural disaster."

"Doing so would require that several Champions leave their post and travel northward," Tryndamere interjected. "If it can even be stopped. No one truly understands it."

Zandred paused. At last he said, quieter, "This man asked me for help. He said his people sent him here. They did so for a reason. We'll do what must be done."


	3. An Explorer's Heart

_N.B. Hello, readers! I hope you're enjoying the story thus far. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave a review or PM me! I promise your suggestions and commentary will be taken into consideration while forming this story. Thanks again._

* * *

Ezreal knelt beside the fallen man, feeling uneasiness prickle atop his skin. Soraka glanced over at him and smiled warmly. "Is this like anything you've encountered in your travels?"

Ezreal bit his lip and shook his head, mystified. "I've seen the effects of curses on people, but the damage to their bodies usually isn't this widespread. Curses can cause rashes and minor infections." He laughed nervously. "I've never seen anyone turn blue."

"Any chance that this man's naturally blue? Some sort of northern coloration?" Zandred murmured. He scrambled for a pair of tiny spectacles and put them on. They gave him an owlish look.

"Probably not. I'd have to study tales of the Skelgarn more closely." Running a hand through his golden hair, Ezreal sighed, the light in his sapphire eyes muted. "You said you'd have to send Champions north? Would I be one of them?"

Zandred nodded. Seeing the look of disgust cross Sejuani's face, he said, "Everyone from the Freljord is dismissed. Now." Lissandra drifted away, followed by Sej, Ashe and Tryndamere.

Confusion crossed Ezreal's face. "Why did Sej look so upset?"

Zandred sighed through his nose, something that never failed to indicate his irritation. "Every single thing in Freljord is politically charged. It's like waiting for a bomb to explode. I don't want to let Sejuani, Ashe and Lissandra have a say in who I send north."

"Isn't it technically their business?" Ryland murmured. He, too, knelt beside Ezreal, scanning the barbarian moodily. As Soraka and Taric stroked his body with healing crystals, the blue pallor began to ebb out of the man's face. His skin slowly returned to a soft white.

Infusing his hand with silvery light, Ryland placed it over the barbarian's brow. His breathing slowed, the ragged edge lessening.

"It can't be their business, or else nothing will get done."

"Ah, yes," Soraka chimed in, pushing wisps of shining hair back from her face. "The wonderful world of politics." Taric grunted in agreement.

"How many people would you send? For how long?"

Zandred's sharp ears caught the excitement in Ezreal's voice. "Seems like you're rather interested in going. Tired of the League?"

Ezreal blushed. "No, no. It's just…it's been a long time since I've gone exploring."

"I see." Zandred leaned back in his chair, obviously feeling more relaxed now that the Freljordians were gone. "Well, you would definitely be among their numbers. Both as an explorer and because we'd need your power to stop the Skelgarn."

"Would I be going too?" Ryland asked quietly. His gray eyes remained affixed to the man's body.

"You could," Zandred said. "I know a few Summoners would be upset, but there are plenty of other Supports to replace you while you were away."

Ezreal blushed even more deeply. He knew that Ryland was only asking because he'd sworn to be Ezreal's protector. The tides of magic surging in Ezreal's veins would lead many people to believe he didn't need a guardian. Ryland saw through his power and knew better – the Prodigal Explorer could be irresponsible and rash at times, especially on the Rift. That the empath would want to trail him on the journey north didn't surprise him.

He tried to remember what he knew of the Skelgarn, but kept getting distracted by the thought of the journey. The vast, frozen tundra. The mountains capped with layers and layers of fresh, downy snow. He could almost feel the chill on his lips. His heart ached when he remembered the pale blue of the northern sky, and how it would fill with dancing hues of pink and green.

He had to go. He hoped Lux would understand.

"Ready whenever you give us the go-ahead."

Zandred nodded, polishing his spectacles. From the half-smile on his face, Ezreal knew he was dreading letting two of the most popular Champions leave the League.

But that's why Zandred made a good Venerable Summoner – he'd learned to smile in the face of adversity. "I have no doubt the two of you would take care of it, but I'll have to include more than you in the travel party. Just for safety's sake."

"Who else would go?"

"I'll think of that later. Tryndamere mentioned that only the people of Piltover understand fully how magic works…"

"Piltover's home to a lot of bright scientists." Ezreal cocked his head. "So, maybe Summoners from Piltover?"

Zandred shook his head, still polishing his glasses though they were clean. "They'd probably accuse me of stacking this season's Summoner's Cup against their region. It'd have to be another Champion. Maybe Jayce? Have you met him?"

"I know him," Ezreal said softly. "He's sort of a hometown hero."

"Like yourself, hmmm?" Zandred put his glasses on his desk and stood up, stretching his back. "Very well. I'll meet with a few of the other top Summoners. We'll let you know later. You and Ryland are free to go."

The moment he and Ezreal were out of earshot, Ryland asked quietly, "Have you seen Lux lately?"

"I saw her yesterday. We didn't get to talk much because the matches went on for so long." Ezreal frowned. "Why? I was on my way to see her when Erinae caught up with me."

"Kat said she's been acting really weird. I wonder if something's happened between her and the Demacians."

"She seemed normal," Ezreal murmured, mystified. "Acting weird towards Kat? How?"

"Nervous. Jumpy." Ryland scratched his head, looking displeased. "Paranoid, almost."

"God, I hope she's okay." Ezreal closed his eyes. "I was thinking about that today. You saving us."

"Don't dwell on it. Please."

"It means a lot to me – because we would both be dead without you," Ezreal said, lowering his voice as they walked out of Zandred's office and into a crowd of Summoners. The Explorer couldn't tell if news about the barbarian had circulated yet – the Summoners looked as carefree as Summoners could.

For a lot of them, summoning Champions everyday was a stressful endeavor. To be at the top of the League required intelligence, quick reaction times, a relaxed demeanor, and intense focus. Though not very empathic, Ezreal could often see which Summoners had had difficult matches that day, simply by looking at their faces.

"If you don't dwell on that, I won't dwell on being bad at warding."

Ezreal grinned despite himself. "Deal, I guess. Still, I'm really worried about Lux."

"Then let's find her."

The two of them hurried towards the Demacian Quarters. The more people they passed, the more nervous Ezreal became. He had to fight the sensation of magic rising to his skin again. It lingered in his nerves, just beyond his reach, burning him. _I'll definitely be using that suit tonight, even if it makes me look like a low-budget robot. _Sensing his discomfort, Ryland sent a bit of his calming aura to Ezreal, wrapping it around his overcharged muscles, trying to dampen the effects.

A few steps away from the building, Ryland suddenly said, "She isn't there."

Ezreal took a deep breath and let it out in a gusting sigh. "Where is she, then?"

Ryland's brow knitted. He closed his eyes, oblivious to the Summoners around them – the Institute was becoming more crowded by the day, it seemed. Ezreal bit back his impatience as Ryland mentally searched through the Institute. "The Support Quarters, I think."

"Let's go."

* * *

Lux sat with her head on her knees, her bare toes dipping into one of the warm baths in Nami's room. Of late, she'd taken to staying beside the Tidecaller during the day. Her room – replete with luscious baths – smelled of ocean-scented candles. Lux had been to the ocean once as a child. It was one of her happiest memories.

If Ezreal hadn't been so tired from his matches on the Rift, he would've known something was wrong. Lux's skin was pale, and her customary smile had been replaced by a thin line.

Karma and Janna had taken seats in the chairs Nami had put out for guests. She preferred to sit and sleep in the bath nearest to the windows, where she could look out into the stars.

Janna flipped idly through a book on Ionian Crystal meditation. Aloud she said, sounding almost irritated, "Why are you so afraid to tell him, Lux? He loves you."

"I would think it's a most happy occasion," Karma added. "Besides, every support knows."

Lux tried to say something, but it felt as if her lips were gummed together. She hadn't spoken in over an hour. She took a sip from the enchanted water vial by her side and felt the stickiness wash away.

"Soraka promised not to tell anyone until I was ready," she said at last.

"And are you not ready? You won't be able to hide it much longer." Karma's smile was warm and sympathetic.

"I feel so…"

"Yes?" Nami trilled. She rested her head next to Lux's feet.

"Evil," Lux said simply. She put her head back into her knees. Her sky-blue eyes were rimmed with red from weariness.

"Evil?" Janna echoed. "It's a natural occurrence."

"We're not married," Lux whispered.

"Marriage is almost purely a Demacian thing anyways," Karma muttered.

"There are pair-bonding ceremonies in almost every culture." Janna slapped her book shut. "So, that's not entirely true."

"Yes, but you know what I mean. Marriage is only important in Demacia. Other cultures say, 'Oh, you love this person? Well then, you are partners.' There may be ceremonies but they're not –"

"Ladies, please." Nami's fins quivered. "I think the issue at hand is Lady Lux."

"I think you should tell him," Janna said simply. She reopened her book. It was obvious she wasn't reading – she was staring angrily at a single page.

"He just looked so happy, and he's so much younger than me." Lux squeezed her eyes shut to stop any tears from falling. "He's seventeen, and I'm twenty-four."

"So?" Janna snorted.

Karma glowered at her. "For a Support, you're not very sensitive."

Nami rolled her eyes. "I'm going to replace you two with Soraka and Taric when they get back. Look, Lux." The Tidecaller squeezed her arm. "As difficult as it is, you have to tell him. Just – Just do it when you first see him. Get it over with – the two of you need to work on this as a couple."

"I'm going to get excommunicated." Lux pulled away from Nami and put her hands over her neck, as if protecting herself from falling debris.

"That didn't happen when you aided Katarina? Wow." Janna rolled her eyes.

"Janna, shut up!" Karma hissed. "We know you were in love with Ezreal –"

"Says who? He's a kid!"

Lux closed her eyes more tightly. She heard a brief scuffle, then the slam of the door.

"It'll be okay," Karma murmured, stroking Lux's back. "I know it's hard."

"Yes, whatever happens, it's just a part of life," Nami added. "And you'll have us here to assist you."

"Soraka thinks you should tell him, too," Karma added. "It has to be soon. Would you rather him find out some other way?"

Lux lifted her head. It felt so heavy, almost as if it were sloshing with water. She took a shuddering breath and nodded. "I will, first thing."

There was a knock on the door. Lux flinched backwards into Karma's legs.

"Well, hon," Karma said. "I think the time is now."

Lux's heart broke again when she saw him. The laughing look in his pretty blue eyes – the sunkissed tone of his skin. He looked so happy to see her. And so young. _I shouldn't have to put this responsibility on him. I shouldn't. _

She saw the light in his eyes fade into the look of concern she knew and loved so well. He reached out and stroked her cheek. "Lux – are you alright?"

She dimly recognized Ryland standing beside him. He looked faintly ill – his psychic powers had probably told him what was going to happen.

"I have to talk to you in private," she murmured. Her throat felt dry and itchy. Her chest compressed.

She wanted to drink in every detail of him before she changed his life forever. But the Supports were right. There wasn't much time.

She led him away, knowing that, though Ryland wouldn't hear their voices, he'd feel Ezreal's heart.

Then she blurted, "I'm pregnant."


	4. For Ezreal

_N.B. Hello, readers! Sorry for the infrequent updates. I wrote this chapter from vacation in Tennessee. Don't worry! I'll be posting more often once I return. _

* * *

For Ezreal, time seemed to stop. He was plunged into an icy-blue ocean of shock. His heart thudded hard, once. Unconsciously, he scrubbed a hand across his forehead as his mind raced to form a coherent thought.

He came to when he realized Lux stood before him, tears beginning to stain the edges of her sky-blue eyes. He pulled her into an embrace, arms wrapped protectively around her shoulders. She was quivering. "Lux – that's – that's –"

"I'm so sorry," she whimpered into his shoulder. "I didn't mean to do this to you."

"But it's wonderful! It's amazing!" He struggled to keep his voice down, but the excitement pulsing in his throat made it difficult. His face glowed with a fierce joy.

"What?" Lux pulled away. Her eyes restlessly scanned his face. "What are you saying?"

"I'm happy. Don't cry, please." He brushed tears away from her cheeks.

Lux was still trembling. "You're happy about it? I –"

"I feel like I've known you forever," Ezreal murmured. He pulled her close again, pressing his lips to her neck. He could feel her heartbeat beneath his lips, fast and fluttery.

It was true – Ezreal never had close friends until he met her. And Luxanna understood him in ways that he didn't understand himself.

She seemed the perfect complement to him. Every night almost, the two of them stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, talking about everything from warfare to artifacts to politics to music and food. She had plumbed the very depths of his soul – she knew about his painful, parentless past and still loved him for it.

And now there would be physical evidence of their bond. A child. A son. Ezreal could feel it.

After being alone for so long, the prospect of adding someone new to his life stirred him, filled him with excitement.

_He won't grow up like me. He'll have a father. I'll make sure of it._

If only there wasn't terror lurking in the depths of Lux's eyes. That was the only mark on his happiness.

"Why aren't you happy, Lux? You know I love you. I'll support you."

"Just – so many reasons. I can't tell you right now. This is my fault." Her voice cracked slightly. Ezreal held her tightly, but made sure not to squeeze her belly.

"Listen. Who knows about this?"

"Almost all of the Supports. I didn't tell anyone but them, not even Katarina."

"Do you mind if I tell Ryland?"

Lux shook her head. That was just a given – Ryland was his best friend. "He deserves to know – I've been talking to the other Supports about it for a while now. You deserve to talk to someone too."

"Go to our bedroom and try to relax. I'll get one of the Novices to bring us room service. We'll talk about it as much as we need to, alright, Lux?"

Lux shivered again. She thought she could feel the baby – the alien lifeform – within her. Waiting there. Resting. She nodded and hurried towards her and Ezreal's room, relieved to be out of his presence for the moment. No matter how happy he was, she knew that she had changed the course of his life forever.

* * *

On Zandred's office floor, the barbarian was beginning to show normal signs of life. His skin had warmed from frigid blue to a delicate eggshell-white. Veins were visible beneath his skin, but his breathing had stabilized at last.

Taric and Soraka at last leaned away from him. 'Raka brushed her silvery hair, damp with perspiration, away from her face. The dimness of her golden eyes showed just how much energy it had taken for her to heal the man. Taric, too, was sweating.

Zandred felt a pang of pity for the pair of them – they were both so hard working, and often underappreciated. _I'll have to do something special for them. I'm just not certain what yet. _He quietly cleared his throat. "How's he doing?"

"He'll live," Taric murmured. "Yes, I'm sure he will."

"The Skelgarn will have this corruptive power, only ten or one hundred-fold." Soraka bowed her head. "I'm not certain we'll be able to stop it. But we must try." She looked to Zandred, questions in her eyes. "Why exactly are you involving the League in this crisis? I would think the Freljordians themselves –"

"This man said that he's the last of his people. Obviously, the Freljordians have reached the limits of their power." Zandred winced. "May I be straight forward with you?"

"Of course." Taric busied himself putting the healing crystals away. Their formerly-white edges were now spackled with veins of darkness. "Everyone's always straight forward with the Supports."

"Well, we trust you. You're all apolitical."

Taric chuckled. "That's true. I think it's something beyond that as well. We're good listeners, aren't we, 'Raka?"

"Sometimes too good." Soraka smiled sadly, remembering Warwick and his betrayal.

Zandred leaned forward, pitching his voice low. "I feel that the League has a greater responsibility to Runeterra and Valoran."

"Even more than keeping the peace?" Taric asked. "We're already doing quite a lot for the people."

"I know I might be overstepping our boundaries of power - "

"Well, we are interfering with a political time bomb." Soraka shrugged. "Regardless of whether you consult the Freljordians or not, they'll want to be allowed on the expedition. By the bye, who exactly _are_ you sending away? The next tournament is coming very soon."

"I hope to have the problem resolved by then. As for the contingent – I was thinking Ezreal, Ryland, you, and Jayce."

"Me?" Soraka blinked. "I – I'm sorry, Venerable Summoner, but my place is at the League."

"We'll need you to go with those boys. They – they seem to attract danger, somehow."

"But what about Lux?" Taric asked, and immediately pressed his fingers over his mouth.

Zandred frowned. "What about Lux? What do you mean?"

"He means in general, Zandred. Taric thinks we need to be here for the entire League."

Zandred sat back, uneasiness swelling in his stomach. There were too many secrets and mysteries again, reminding him of the tragedy that had only occurred a short while ago. And he didn't like to dwell on the one and only Champion who had died at the Institute. Zed.

The memorial for Zed sat out back of the Support Quarters – they'd wanted it there to remind them of their failure. Even though Zed's evil nature wasn't their fault, the Supports all agreed that they hadn't done enough to protect the Summoners and Champions.

"I think Taric and Sona can provide for you while you're gone. I firmly believe your place is beside Ryland, wherever he goes. He was your student. He still is, in some ways."

Soraka nodded, resigned to Zandred's wishes. "Of course. I'll protect them to the best of my ability."

* * *

Ryland waited with his head down, thinking of Ezreal. His empath powers longed to be free, to go to Ezreal's mind and taste his thoughts. But Ryland knew he deserved privacy. To distract himself, he focused instead on his memories of how he'd come to know about Ezreal.

About four years ago, Ryland had taken Archaeology & Artifacts as one of his classes at the prestigious Demacian Academy. The class was an easy A, and he was fond of the teacher, Carla Wright.

Part of Ryland liked her because of her demeanor. She was a short, withered professor who used a walking stick to point at the chalkboard or tap sleeping students awake. She dressed in outrageous, colorful clothes – mossy green dresses, orange-sherbet pants, and the like. Her trademark was her giant silver glasses.

Whenever she spoke, her hands fluttered about like tiny birds. Sometimes she did impressions of well-known Demacian or Noxian warriors – her impression of Swain was perfect, almost terrifying.

The other part of Ryland loved the material she taught. Because the Academy's main purpose was to churn out future Demacian soldiers, most of the history and science classes had Demacian propaganda interlaced with the curriculum. Not so with Carla Wright's class. She taught both sides of every story – Noxian and Demacian, Avarosan and Frostguard.

Despite Ryland's shyness and awkwardness, Carla Wright befriended him. At one point he even gave her granddaughter clarinet lessons.

Near the end of his junior year, she handed Ryland a parting gift.

Ryland – called Michael, back then, in his Demacian life – had blushed hard. "Oh, no, no, Professor Wright –"

"Oh, hush and open it, Michael." Her bird-like eyes glittered with merriment. "You're the only student I know who would actually read it. The rest of them are too busy playing sports or drinking."

Still blushing, he carefully tore the red paper away, revealing an enormous book. One of Michael's favorite kinds – the edges trimmed with gold, the binding smooth, soft leather. He blinked in surprise. "_Musings on Shurimana's Artifacts_? Professor Wright, isn't this a new book? This must've cost a fortune!"

Professor Wright nodded gleefully. "Do you know who it's by? Have you heard of Ezreal?"

Michael wracked his brains. "I've heard of him, yes. I don't know much about him."

"He's Piltover's Grand Explorer. You remind me of him quite a bit. Same quick mind." Seeing Michael's confusion, she added, "Your minds work differently, of course. I think you'll love how he writes."

"I – I promise I'll read it." Michael looked around and lowered his voice. "My parents are sending me into the military. I don't want to go."

Professor Wright nodded sadly. "Yes, you're a scholar, not a soldier. But we are all many things. Like Ezreal."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a scholar, an explorer, a scientist, an artist." She smiled broadly. "And a child."

That night, after a dull dinner, he hurried to his room and lit a candle. Then he turned the first page and gasped. Ezreal's signature was scrawled beneath on the title page.

_To Professor Wright. Stoking the flame of knowledge is important, and few other careers carry such importance. Thanks for listening to my speech on Freljordian Arrowheads – at least you didn't fall asleep, like my mentor did! _

_Love, Ezreal_

_This book must've been really important to her_, Michael thought. _She must really like me to give me it. I'm going to read the whole thing. _

Luckily, Ezreal's writings captivated him from the very first sentences:

_The tribes around Shurimana have a saying – none return from their burial grounds alive. Travelers don't take their warnings seriously. After all, most tribal people insist that their graveyards are as dangerous as the Katamundu Viper. Spreading such tales prevents curious archeologists (like myself) from plundering the treasures of the dead._

_However, the Shurimana insist that people _do_ return from the graves. They always do. But when they come back home to their families and friends, their lovers and children, they aren't alive. They come back, not as living people, but as ghosts and zombies. _

The last page of the book had a portrait of Ezreal on it. Michael studied him, drinking in his ocean-tinted eyes, the way his sun-struck blonde hair fell past his ears. The Explorer was smiling. He wrote as well as Professor Wright did, but was only twelve years old. A living contradiction of innocence and knowledge, boyishness and maturity.

When Michael traced Ezreal's jawline, he felt a spark of power in his fingertips. A premonition._ I will know him. I will know him well._

Michael frowned, waiting to see if the premonition would bring more information. Outside, crickets chirped into the still, Demacian night. He placed two fingers over the Explorer's chest and snatched them back as another thought filled him.

_He will need me always. I'm sure of it. _

When he went to Carla's class the next day, she had a massive stack of magazines with articles by Ezreal in them, and gave him a list of his publications. Apparently he'd been publishing since he was seven.

She nodded as Michael took the stack. "Yes, yes. I knew your brains would work similarly. Somehow I knew."

* * *

Ryland looked up, hearing the patter of footsteps approach him. He could see the grin on Ezreal's face from one hundred feet away. Unable to control his powers any longer, his aura reached out towards Ezreal and enveloped him joyfully, drinking in his emotions.

Happiness roared through Ezreal like a sunlit waterfall, filling his body and mind to the overflowing point. But beneath the cascade was darkness. Ryland blinked, withdrawing his mind with an effort. Ezreal may be feeling joy, but something was wrong. Ryland could feel it.

He stood up, stretching his legs. "I guess it was good news, then."

Ezreal's eyes flickered gold for a brief moment. Breath caught in Ryland's throat as he remembered. _The Overflow. Gotta calm him down_. The darkness he sensed was the threat of Ezreal's power overwhelming him. It could hurt him.

Or worse.

Oblivious to the danger, Ezreal beamed. "She's pregnant."

"What?"

"Lux is pregnant!"

Ryland staggered backwards as if punched in the solar plexus. When he could breathe again, he asked, "You're – you're happy about that?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Ezreal shifted his weight, irritation crossing his finely drawn features. He was shaking. "Of course I'm happy. Why wouldn't I be?"

Ryland looked around to ensure that no other Champions or Summoners were listening. He had a feeling that Lux had kept this secret for a long time, for good reason, and he had no intention to give her up now. "A baby's a lot of responsibility," he said slowly. "And you're pretty young."

"Lux seemed really upset about, too." Ez scratched his arm nervously. Ryland swallowed hard when he saw tiny golden sparks dance across the scratch-marks. He grabbed Ezreal's shoulders. The Explorer flinched. _He's on a high, I can tell. Oh man. This is dangerous. _

"Take deep breaths."

"Why?"

"Just do it. Look at me. Make eye contact. Stop twitching."

Ezreal looked up at him. As Ryland watched, his eyes cycled between a tidal blue and the gold of autumn leaves. The triangular scars beneath his eyes held traces of gold, too.

For some reason, Standard Magic Overflow often showed itself in scar tissues or wounds. From what he'd read, Ryland thought that the power in the magic-bearer's cells was more visible where the skin was corrupted or destroyed; regular skin covered it up.

Which meant that Ezreal's blood could literally be dancing with gold right now. The thought disturbed Ryland – _so much hidden energy _– and he tried to put it out of his head.

He thought he detected the beginnings of tears in Ezreal's eyes. Overflow was often accompanied intense emotional changes, almost like bipolarity. A person could swing from happiness to dark depression to anger in an instant.

Desperately, Ryland reached past the loud static of happiness and wrapped Ezreal in the most calming aura he could.

The Explorer leaned against Ryland's chest, feeling drained as the manic energy left him. Ryland put his arms around Ez's shoulders and waited, heart thrumming. Ezreal gradually quit shaking, his muscles relaxing. _That was close, _Ryland thought_. That was really close to supernova. He's so fragile sometimes._

"I don't understand why everyone's so upset," Ezreal muttered against Ryland's shirt. "Or why things have to happen at once."

"You mean the Freljordian crisis?"

"Mhm. I wanted to go on the expedition but I can't leave Lux." He sighed harshly. The happiness had shifted to longing so intense it hurt Ryland's chest.

"You're going to talk to her, right?"

"I came to talk to you first." He withdrew from Ryland. Ryland was relieved to see that the gold had left Ezreal's eyes entirely, leaving only blue. Still, their tone was more wintry and pale than usual, and dark circles had appeared beneath his eyes. "I thought you'd congratulate me."

Ryland paused. "I'm glad you're happy," he said carefully. "But I'm also sure that Lux has good reason to be upset. You know she's a member of the Crownguard family."

"So?" Ezreal scowled.

"That's one of the oldest and most prestigious families in all of Demacia. That's why Merilyn targeted her for assassination, remember? Because if she died, it would've caused a national crisis."

"But she isn't part of the royal family. Why would it matter?"

Ryland took a deep breath. _I always knew Lux was a bad choice for you. You poor, poor kid_.

"For a long time, she was betrothed to Jarvan IV. The Crownguard family was eventually supposed to merge with the royal family. Lux subverted the betrothal by joining the Demacian military – female soldiers aren't allowed to become married."

"She never told me that," Ezreal said softly. His eyes swam with hurt.

"It's fairly well known in Demacia." Ryland winced, his mouth filled with bitterness – he thought Lux would at least tell him about the betrothal, whether the marriage was still happening or not. "The royal Lightshields wanted them married because it would boost their popularity; the Crownguards wanted her to because they wanted to enjoy royal status." He paused again. "It was also traditionally assumed that she would join Jarvan IV in marriage once she'd left the military."

Ezreal's eyes grew dark. Ryland fought the urge to step away from him. "She's going to marry him? Then what was she doing with me? Some - some summer fling?"

"I don't know if she's going to marry him or – "

"She never said a word!" he shouted. "Not a damn word!"

"Ezreal –"

Blue, Pulsefire lightning crackled across his hands. Ryland couldn't contain his gasp. A Pulsefire Trueshot could destroy half of the Institute, could last for miles, striking down everything it passed. It would be even more deadly than Ian of Piltover's Pulsefire hurricane. Without thinking, he flung himself onto Ezreal, pushing them both to the ground.

"Ezreal, don't." Though his powers were already dimmed by having to stop the earlier Overflow, Ryland sent all of his magic into Ezreal's body, slowing his heartrate, soothing his thoughts. The Pulsefire still danced over Ezreal's hands, burning through Ryland's shirt, then his skin. He ignored the pain, murmuring "It's okay, Ezreal. I'm sorry I upset you."

_Why didn't she tell me, Ryland? _

Ryland closed his eyes. It was even harder to talk to Ezreal telepathically, where he could sense the hurt and distrust behind every word. The lightning felt as if it were singeing his ribs. He willed himself to distance his mind from his body, an old Support meditation trick. Much easier to perform when you weren't being overwhelmed by someone else's emotions.

_Ezreal,_ _I don't know. I thought you knew as a historian._

_I've never heard of it. My expertise isn't the Lightshield family. Is that why she's so upset? Because she's promised to another man?_

_ I'm sure there are many reasons. You should go talk to her, once you've calmed down. _

_ You feel resentful towards her. Why? _

Ryland grimaced. He'd forgotten Ezreal was strong in Standard, Empath and Pulsefire, and thus could feel his emotions, too. _I'm bitter because she was hiding secrets from you._

They laid there for a while, until the lightning ceased streaming from Ezreal's hands, until Ryland could safely withdraw his aura from Ezreal. When he stood up, he realized how tired Ezreal looked.

"You almost Flooded twice today. Back to back."

"Yeah, it's been a long day." Looking up at Ryland's ribs, Ezreal winced. The Song of Balance's shirt was in tatters, revealing the ugly burns on his marble-white skin. "Ryland. You're bleeding."

"Am I?" Ryland brushed the lighting wounds. His fingers came away stained with red. His mind still didn't feel attached to his body, so the pain was distant, muted. "Damn."

"You just saved my life again. Twice." Ezreal closed his eyes.

"Don't worry about it."

"You always say that. Every time. One of these days –" the Explorer sat up and sighed. "I'm going to kill you on accident."

"Don't say that. Please."

"Why?" Ezreal got to his feet and laughed, bitterly. "Because you know it's true?"

Ryland tried to ignore him. It was most likely true – there were only so many Overflows you could prevent until you Flooded yourself. And if both of them Flooded at the same time, who would save them? "Where the hell are the rest of the Supports? I at least expected Soraka to show up."

"No idea. I guess – I guess I should try to find Lux. And talk to her."

The hesitation in Ezreal's voice wounded Ryland. "Yeah. I can go with you."

"That'd be nice." Ezreal sighed, looking at his hands. A tiny dusting of neon-blue particles remained there, evidence of how close he'd come to the Overflow. "Ryland…thank you."

Ryland just shook his head.


	5. Decisions

Ashe slammed the door to her bedroom in the Carry Quarters. She whirled on Tryndamere, eyes blazing. "You don't understand! We must leave as soon as possible, before the Skelgarn reaches farther!"

Tryndamere moved to rest a comforting hand on his trembling queen's shoulder. His lips were drawn tight. He looked sick. "Ashe -"

Ashe shrugged his hand off, eyes wide. In a low voice, she said, "I've seen it. I've seen what it does to people. It eats them, devours their life force. It takes their light and remakes it into darkness."

"We can't just leave, Ashe," Tryndamere rumbled. "As Zandred mentioned, the Summoner's Cup is very soon. The Summoners of Freljord are counting on you and I. They want to support the Avarosan movement."

"I'm tired of playing games!" she shouted. Her eyes snapped with anger. "We must go north. We'll do more good up there than here, playing the part of some Summoners' toy."

"You can't go."

Ashe drew herself up to her full height haughtily. Still, her chin barely grazed Tryndamere's shoulders. "You forget that I may be your wife, but I am the queen. I answer to no man. Not even you."

Tryndamere's face hardened, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Very well. Then you may journey north. As queen. Alone."

Ashe hid her shock well, but Trynd still saw the small flash of surprise flicker across her face. "I shall. I'll be leaving soon." She paused. "I'll confess my surprise, given that the man on the floor was likely one of your kinsmen."

"He was no family of mine. The paint he wore on his chest was green. From the southern tribe." He looked into Ashe's eyes. She met his gaze and did not falter, though many warriors had in the past. "It is a fool-hardy idea, my queen." The last two words had a hard, frosty edge to them. "I will let it be known that I do not support your decision. Especially as a Carry. There are few to fulfill your role, and less willing to."

Ashe opened her mouth to retort. There was a knock on the door.

Frowning, Tryndamere crossed over Ashe and peered through the peephole. He muttered a curse in the barbarian dialect. "I believe you have a visitor. Sejuani."

Ashe pursed her lips. _She would come now. Of course. When I am least prepared to handle her. _"See her in."

She fought to keep her nose from wrinkling when Sejuani entered. The warrior smelled rather strongly of wild boar. Compared to Ashe's simple blue dress, her rugged animal pelts seemed wild and uncouth, with the bristles of her skirt sticking out in random directions. Then again, the leader of the Winter's Claw had little time for finery, and less time for manners.

The dark fur contrasted strongly with her ivory skin. Like most Freljordians, her skin was a the color of cool cream, reminiscent of snow beneath the moon.

Not meeting Ashe or Tryndamere's eyes, Sejuani cleared her throat. Her face mirrored Ashe's carefully blank expression. "I'm sure the pair of you are well aware of the menace threatening the heart of the north."

"We are," Tryndamere said, "As are you."

Sejuani nervously patted her fur skirt, fiddling with the leather laces. Still without looking at either of them, she said quietly, "I have no time for pretense. I am ready to forge a temporary alliance to solve this problem and stop the Skelgarn. I have no bargaining chip or guarantee of my loyalty, but I think our desire to stop this – disease – should be enough."

Ashe sucked in breath and sneaked a glance at Tryndamere. He met her sideways gaze. In his eyes, she saw his decision. He would support her in the decision she made.

Now that Sejuani had shown her hand, Tryndamere realized that he, too, would have to act. His desire to remain at the League wouldn't hold up well against Sejuani's determination.

Like Ashe, Tryndamere felt that the fate of Freljord held higher importance than that of the Summoners' Cup.

Ashe shifted her features into a small, polite smile. "Thank you, Sejuani. I will keep your offer in mind while I formulate my plans."

The huntress nodded curtly and departed as quickly as she'd come.

Ashe leaned against her bedroom wall, her eyes tracing a mural of Freljord opposite her. One of the Summoners who favored her, Zuna, had painted it. The artwork showed the tallest mountain in the north, foregrounded by a field of violets blooming beneath the summer sun. Whenever she was homesick, she'd spend hours sharpening the heads of her arrows and meditating on the painting, reliving the cool breezes that touched her skin during the summer rains.

Tryndamere sighed, leaning on his blade. His furrowed brow made him look older than his years, and tired. "My love. My mind is against yours, but my heart is with you, Ashe. As it always has been. We must go north. I only hope this decision is born of wisdom and not hearth-sickness."

Ashe nodded. "Aye, I hope so too. We'll alert Zandred."

* * *

Lux flinched when the bedroom door opened. Catching sight of Ezreal, every thought fled her, leaving her only with parted lips.

He looked absolutely devastated. His rosy cheeks were ash-pale, and his blue eyes tinted with tired gray. He wouldn't meet her eyes, instead avoiding them by nodding to the other Supports.

Feeling her rapid pulse, Soraka squeezed Lux's hand.

Almost every Support was with her. Nami sat at her feet, next to Lulu and Karma. Taric was perched on the bed with a rueful look on his face. Soraka had taken a seat on the bed, trying to keep Lux calm as tension built up inside of her.

Ryland entered behind Ezreal, clutching his ribs. His dark curls were clinging damply to his forehead. Red was pooling between his fingers.

Soraka gasped and shot to her feet. "Ryland! What happened to you?"

Ryland peered beneath his messy locks and shot Lux a dark look. "The Overflow. Where were you guys?"

"Overflow?" Soraka echoed. "Did it happen to you? You've never had that problem in the past."

"Not Ryland. Me." Ezreal's long lashes closed. "I almost killed both of us. Again."

"You almost died?" Taric shook his head, entirely mystified. "But Ezreal…if you really Flooded, surely Soraka or I would have noticed. We would have felt it. How close were you?"

When Ryland and Ezreal hesitated, the Gem Knight stood up, joints crackling. He and Soraka were obviously worn out from their constant healing efforts. With stiff legs, he made his way to Ryland. He pulled Ryland's hand away and unceremoniously slapped a healing palm over his ribs.

Ryland hissed in pain. Through clenched teeth he said, "Ez was about two seconds from firing a Pulsefire Trueshot. It probably would've killed all of us. I calmed him down."

"So dangerous," Soraka murmured. Seeing the intent gazes of the other Supports, she said, "Give us some time, girls."

The other Supports exchanged glances and filed out of the room, leaving Soraka, Taric, Ezreal, Ryland and Lux.

Ezreal made his way to the wall opposite Lux, not daring to approach her. He moodily stared at the ground. _He won't even look at me_, Lux thought. _Oh, Ezreal._

"You can't keep interfering with Ezreal's Overflow, Ryland. No matter what duty you think you have to fulfill to protect him," Soraka chided gently.

"It's not my duty to protect him." Ryland glowered. "It's protecting everyone else. If he Overflows, it could be deadly."

"Thanks," Ezreal muttered. His cerulean eyes remained downcast.

"It's true, isn't it?" Ryland snapped.

"Relax." Taric removed his hand from Ryland and wiped his brow. "You're both alive for now. What I'm more concerned about is not knowing when it happened. I didn't feel anything at all."

"True. When Ezreal Overflowed last time, every Empathic person on the Institute's grounds came running." Soraka frowned. "I know that you two wouldn't mistake the symptoms, but Ezreal's been doing so well lately. What caused it?"

"I – I heard the news."

"Ah. Of Lux's pregnancy." Soraka nodded, trying to hide her exhaustion. "I could see why that would cause you stress."

Ezreal said nothing.

Soraka, sensing tension, said, "Ryland, Taric and I would like to speak with you about our journey north." She quietly ushered Taric and Ryland from the room, leaving Ezreal and Lux alone.

Ezreal leaned against the wall, staring out of the window and into the distance. In the Supports' garden, Nami and Karma were busily tending to fresh blooms. A group of Summoners was touring the grounds, occasionally nodding in approval, the hoods of their robes bobbing.

Lux only had eyes for Ezreal, drinking in his slim hips and shoulders. She waited for him to speak.

He cleared his throat. When he spoke, it was so softly that Lux had to strain to make out his words. "Ryland. He told me about your engagement with Jarvan IV."

Lux looked down. "I thought you knew. It's – it's common knowledge."

"I thought you'd mention that you were destined to be married to someone else over the course of our relationship. I guess I was wrong."

"I didn't think it would affect us."

"How could it not?" Ezreal closed his eyes. "So you were just – I don't know – entertaining me? Toying with me? Biding your time until your marriage?"

Lux shook her head. "No – No –"

She was overwhelmed by images. Shouldn't Ezreal know how political marriages worked? The spouses had a mutual agreement – rarely were the married faithful to one another. Lux knew Shyvana would warm Jarvan IV's bed, both literally and figuratively.

When she'd bothered to think of the future, she saw Ezreal dressed in snowy white armor, contrasting strongly with his blonde hair and tan skin. A knight in the service of Demacia. In her vision, he had finally grown into his long arms and legs, his shoulders wide. A short, ivory-hilted sword hung by his side.

Then she opened her eyes and saw him for what he really was – an explorer. A Prodigal Explorer from his wide blue eyes to his worn boots. With that wild heart, he would never be a soldier. And he would never endure being second to Jarvan IV. To anyone.

"So you _are_ going to marry him." Ezreal's lips twitched.

"I'm betrothed. I have been since I was born."

"But you're pregnant. What are you going to do with the child?" Ezreal cocked his head, his face the picture of innocence.

Lux felt her heart crack open, fracture. Cold vapor filled her chest, numbing her. "I'll have to get rid of it."

"What?" Ezreal's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"The Supports have ways of getting rid of the baby before it's born. Herbs to cleanse me. Soraka already told me she'd respect my decision." The crack in her chest grew wider.

"Lux. You can't! Listen –" Ezreal squeezed his hands together in a gesture of supplication. "I'll take him. Her. I'll raise them alone. I promise. No one has to know."

Lux flinched away from him. "Ezreal…what are you saying? You're not – you're not ready."

"How do you know? Lux, you can't –"

"It doesn't matter!" Ezreal shouted. Lux could sense the air pressure in the room change as it became charged with invisible, living sparks. The air became heavy and damp, clinging to her skin. And in the middle of the room stood the storm's fiery heart, eyes ablaze.

Ezreal sensed it too, and gulped down air to slow his heartbeat. He swallowed. Panting, he said, "Lux, if you loved me, you'd let me adopt the child."

"I didn't realize you wanted a family so badly," she murmured. His reaction was totally unexpected. Sure, being upset was understandable. But his desperate attempts to keep the baby baffled her. As a soldier, she had never wanted children, and found the idea of pregnancy disgusting.

Ezreal looked away. Studying his profile, Lux realized why she'd thought of him as a knight – that strong jaw and golden mane. "I thought it was common knowledge," he said bitterly. She winced.

"I'm due out of the military in five years. That's a long time, Ezreal. Half a decade before anything has to change."

He turned away from her. "Goodbye, Lux."

She heard his slow, steady steps as he left her alone. Then she put her head down and wept, the cold tears pouring down her face.

* * *

"Why didn't I know Lux was pregnant?"

Soraka sighed through her nose. Even with her nearly endless reserves of energy, shadows clung beneath her golden eyes. "Taric and I thought it best to allow Lux to manage her personal business the way she wanted to."

"No, no. I don't mind you not telling me. It's her business. I just – I thought I would have sensed it, but I didn't even know anything was different until Katarina told me today."

"You've been very busy with the League, Ryland. You're maturing very well as a Champion." Soraka warmly brushed hair from his eyes. "You and Ezreal have great synergy, as we predicted."

Ryland smiled. Praise from his teacher always felt good, perhaps because it came so rarely. "I just find it worrying, that's all."

"You've always worried. It's difficult to be so strong in Empath powers."

Taric suddenly looked up. "Soraka. I think I've noticed something. Our powers might be being suppressed." Soraka wearily gestured for him to continue. "Ryland didn't sense Lux's pregnancy. Today, we didn't sense Ezreal's Overflow."

"And you were very close to us," Ryland added.

"I think it might be the Skelgarn spreading." Taric's emerald eyes gleamed with excitement. Ryland wasn't sure why. Being of extraterrestrial origin, Taric's emotional displays didn't always match well with the situation.

"The Skelgarn does have a dark type of energy." Soraka sighed again. For a moment, she looked very old and almost frail. "Well, it is good that Zandred is sending us north to stop it."

"I wonder if it contributed to Ezreal's Overflow," Taric mused.

"I hope not. If he keeps heading north, he'll be a time bomb. Again." Ryland chuckled. "I think I'm getting used to it."

"I hate that my best student has to use himself as a blast shield," Soraka murmured.

"Someone has to."

"I know how strongly you feel about Ezreal, Ryland. I just wish we had more help dealing with him."

Ryland shifted his weight. Something was wrong. That wasn't surprising – at the Institute, something was always wrong. Aloud he said, "Maybe we could start teaching him Support meditations to deal with his excess power. I know he uses some of the easier ones."

Nodding, Soraka said, "That we will. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to retire to my Quarters for the night. And Ryland –"

Ryland caught a glimpse of Ezreal slowly trudging through the Support Quarters. Soraka and Taric saw him too.

"You should probably tend to the Prodigal Explorer," Soraka finished.

Ryland nodded, bracing himself for the trials ahead.


	6. Varadi

_N.B. Hello, readers. I hope you're enjoying the story thus far. As aforestated, I read all reviews and messages. Every opinion is valid, so don't hesitate to contact me. :) _

Somewhere in the Venerable Summoner's house, a clock chimed eight. Dusk was falling, a purple curtain across the sky punctuated by the soft glimmer of silvery stars. Zandred was poring over the Summoners' records when the barbarian on the floor let out a groan, followed by a sigh.

Zandred jumped. "Hello? Are you awake?"

The barbarian groaned again. The eerie noise sent Zandred's spine tingling. Cautiously, he closed the records and leaned over the barbarian's body.

With the effects of the Skelgarn reversed, the warrior's true coloration was revealed. His hair and five o' clock shadow were the color of wild ginger. Green pigment was splashed across his cheeks and chest. As Zandred watched, the barbarian's eyes fluttered open, revealing startlingly amber eyes.

"Ah, me aching dome," he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his head. "Me back, too. Everything hurts." Seeing Zandred's intent gaze, he asked, "Where am I, stranger? This isn't Freljord."

"You're currently at the Institute of War, home to the League of Legends."

The barbarian sat up, nostrils flaring. "So I made it to get help, eh? I wasn't sure. The last few weeks have seemed a bit like a dream."

Zandred nodded. "Effects of the Skelgarn, no doubt. What's your name, friend?"

"Varadi, Eye of the Wolf."

"Zandred Claren of Zaun." He shook Varadi's hand. "We're going to help you."

"Good. My tribe's healer said I might get help from here."

"Really?" Zandred was impressed that the League was thought so highly of as far north as Freljord. "We're currently putting together an expedition party containing our top Champions. We should be ready to put an end to the Skelgarn fairly soon."

Varadi scrubbed idly at his jaw. "Aye. Don't know if it'll be that simple, though. I'm a strong man, but even my bodily strength couldn't forestall the Skelgarn's effects."

"We have people skilled in magic," Zandred said grandly – he loved to brag about the Champions – and immediately regretted it as Varadi's face grew sour.

"Magic is the problem in the first place," he spat. "If it weren't for sorcery, we'd be havin' no problem up north."

"Your anger is understandable," Zandred said quickly. "But I assure you, these people will work only for your good."

He was going to continue when he was interrupted by three quiet knocks on his office door. Patting down his purple robes, Zandred hurried to open it. "Ah, Tryndamere. And Ashe. What a lovely surprise."

"Tryndamere?" Varadi slowly got to his feet. "The Barbarian King?"

Tryndamere peered over Zandred's shoulder. "So the stranger awakens."

"And his beautiful queen." Pushing past Zandred, Varadi bowed deeply from the waist. "It is an honor to see you at last, with mine own eyes."

Ashe smiled briefly. "Arise, traveler. No need to bow." Locking eyes with Zandred, she said, "Sejuani has spoken to the two of us. We'll be leaving for the north in the morning."

"So soon?" Zandred gulped. From the determination evident in both of their postures, there would be no talking them out of it. Not this time. "I haven't made preparations yet."

"Unfortunately we can't stall," Tryndamere said quietly. "The threat is too large. I think our northern brother would agree."

"It's spreading very rapidly, aye." Varadi stretched his arms.

"Ashe. Trynd. Wait." Zandred rubbed his eyelids. "I can't finish the preparations tonight. You might have to wait until noon tomorrow to leave, but at most that sets you back a few hours. Surely you can delay that long."

"I'm not sure if that's wise," Ashe said with a grimace.

"A few hours is worth extra supplies and man-power. I'll call on the other people as soon as possible. Right now, actually. Wait a moment."

Zandred left to find Erinae, Jatt and Turley. The latter two were curled up on sofas in the Venerable Summoner's living room, sleeping. The hood of Jatt's robe was pulled over his head, and vibrated whenever he snored.

Erinae was snacking on tiny, fluffy pastries and reading a book on Freljordian culture. Seeing Zandred, she snapped to attention, sending the pastries tumbling to the floor.

"Sir."

"Awaken those two and go find Ezreal, Ryland, Jayce and Soraka. And Katarina."

Erinae frowned slightly. "So late?"

Zandred looked behind him and lowered his voice. "We've got a case of, ah, itchy feet. They want to leave tomorrow. "

Erinae shut her book. "What about the Summoner's Cup?"

The Venerable Summoner sighed. As proud as he was of the League, sometimes things seemed to get out of hand quickly. This was one of those times. "We'll just have to delay it. Surely the Summoners will understand."

"They'd better," Erinae muttered. Zandred left her to shake the two boys awake, trying to put thoughts of the Summoner's Cup from his mind.

* * *

Jayce chomped the end of his Bilgewater cigar, enjoying the curls of sweet smoke it emitted. He knew cigars weren't technically allowed, but after winning seven of the eight matches he'd played today, he was feeling pretty damn good. He'd already treated himself to a warm bubble bath and a delicious bowl of homemade pasta.

Now he reclined on the couch in his favorite fuzzy bathrobe, feet propped on a velveteen stool. With a few deft turns of dials, he tuned his experimental radio to the sweet strains of Noxian opera. He leaned back into the sumptuous leather couch with a contented sigh. "Damn, it feels great to be me."

He was just getting cozy with his latest historical novel when Turley stumbled through his bedroom door, eyes bulging. He tripped over Jayce's rug, recovered, and bowed. Jayce snuffed his cigar with the ends of his fingers – he wondered what Zandred would do about his smoking habit.

But Turley ignored it. "Sir, sir needs you. I mean – Zandred, sir. Needs you. To his office."

Jayce lifted an eyebrow. "Right now? In the middle of Jayce Time?"

"Time waits for no man. Not even Jayce."

"Don't go getting all philosophical on me. What's he need?"

"Something about a Piltover hometown hero, sir."

Jayce chuckled. "You sure you didn't mix me up with a certain blond explorer?"

Turley's eyes lit with confusion. "No, no. He said Jayce."

"I know. It was a j – never mind, kiddo. Let me put on some real clothes and I'll go on over." He sighed, getting to his feet. "It's always in the middle of Jayce Time."

* * *

"Ezreal! Wait!" Ryland jogged to keep up with his slender, retreating form. He spun Ez around, revealing the Explorer's carefully neutral face. Ryland's chest seized when he realized he wasn't getting a signal from him. Even with his Empath powers, Ezreal was impossible to read. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Ezreal ducked away from him. "Looks like I'll be sleeping in your room tonight. If that's ok."

"Of course it is. We'll just need to get your suit." Ryland looked more closely at him. Since Ezreal's Overflow six months ago, when he'd saved him, Ryland had always felt a deep connection to the Explorer. Feeling that connection go dead was disconcerting. It was almost as if half of his body was numb. "What happened?" he repeated.

"Lux – let's just say that she and I don't have the same opinions on her pregnancy." Ezreal's small smile was cold and wistful.

Ryland's scalp prickled. "She's not going to have it, is she? She can't."

"The biggest scandal Demacia would have ever seen," Ezreal muttered.

"What was she thinking? She knew she would have to marry Jarvan."

"I caught some of her thoughts. She saw me as a soldier. A knight." Ezreal sighed. "She really thought I was going to fight on behalf of Demacia someday."

"But you're apolitical. You don't believe in Demacia or Noxus' cause."

"Well, it's nice that you at least understood that." Ezreal shifted his weight. "I guess…she was so caught up in her fantasized ideas about me that she didn't realize what I actually thought and felt."

"Ugh. I've told you so many times that she was a bad choice for you."

"I always thought you were jealous." Ezreal grinned wolfishly. "I'm pretty sure that's always been part of it."

Ryland scowled. He knew Ezreal was deflecting attention from the topic, something he always did when he was upset. But the small dig still irritated him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You always save my ass, but I love Lux more. You're always there when I'm sad, but I still buy Lux necklaces and strawberry wines. You always put yourself in danger – "

"I get it. But you're not making much sense."

"You know, I actually thought you were lying to get me to break up with Lux," Ezreal said, twirling a lock of blond hair around his finger. The small smile was still in place, unshakable.

"Are you serious?"

"Oh, come on. Wouldn't it have crossed your mind, if you were in my situation?"

Ryland shook his head slowly. The accusations stung, even if he knew they weren't true. "I would never lie to you. Ever."

"That's more than Lux could say. Maybe I should've been buying you the expensive presents after all." Ezreal laughed.

Erinae appeared at the end of the hallway in a whirl of purple robes. Ryland reflected that she looked rather like Ezreal's doppelgänger, a shadow clone, especially in the dim light of the Support Quarters. He groaned aloud. "What now?"

"Preparations for the journey north have been pushed up." She bowed. "Zandred needs you now."

"Both of us? Ha, why am I even asking? They always need both of us – me to actually do stuff, and Ryland to protect me because I can't save myself." Ezreal shook his head.

"He's in a bad mood."

"I noticed," Erinae said calmly. "Still, the Venerable Summoner cannot be ignored. Katarina is on her way as well."

"Good. I haven't been able to meet up with her." Seeing Ezreal's forlorn look, Ryland couldn't resist adding, "Who's jealous now?"

"Still you. You only have her because you can't have me."

Ryland gritted his teeth The Explorer's words lodged beneath his ribs, burning him. Until now, he'd always ignored Ryland's reasons for protecting him. That he would mock Ryland, after he'd saved him so many times…

But why should he make fun of Ezreal, when he was under so much stress?

With a concentrated focus of will, Ryland calmed himself. "I'm sorry for teasing you."

"I'm sorry for being angry at you," Ezreal replied as they trailed Erinae out of the Support Quarters and into the night. "What happened isn't your fault."

"I still feel like it is."

"You always do." Ezreal hesitated, then reached up and put an arm around Ryland's shoulders.

* * *

"The clothiers are readying packages for the Champions I've chosen to involve," Zandred explained. No one acted as if they'd heard him. From the way Ashe was anxiously pacing back and forth, she looked like she wanted to leave at this very second.

Tryndamere and Varadi were perched in the back of the room, discussing something in the rugged, guttural tones of the barbarian language. Occasionally Tryndamere would ask Varadi for clarification in the Runeterran language when their northern and southern dialects differed. Ashe wasn't interfering, only listening.

The southern barbarian still looked starstruck from meeting the king and queen. His hand gestures were wider than Tryndamere's, and his language had a more musical lilt. Zandred found it difficult to gauge his age, but he didn't look much older than twenty-five.

Jayce entered his office, dressed in a teal button-up shirt and creased pants. His cologne was almost overwhelming, but Zandred smiled in relief – it was nice to have someone who wasn't from the frozen north to interact with. "Good evening."

"Hi. So what's going on here?"

"Long story short, I need you to go on a trip. I was recommended to choose you because of your scientific knowledge of magic."

"Oh, man. It's been a while, but yeah, I still remember a lot of stuff." Jayce looked around. "I'm guessing you couldn't pick Summoners?"

"Champions would be best for this mission. I've picked Ezreal, Katarina, Ryland, and Soraka in addition to you."

Jayce whistled. "That's quite the power squad."

"You'll be travelling in addition to Ashe, Tryndmere and Sejuani as well."

The Defender of Tomorrow hesitated at the mention of the Freljordians. "I hope you know that I don't support a political faction, so I can't fight in any wars."

"What?" Zandred frowned. "Oh, no. No. There's a sort of natural disaster, I guess you'd call it. Something described as a tidal wave of darkness, coming from the north. Spreading rapidly."

"Sounds fun. Really, really fun," Jayce said sarcastically.

"Have you heard of the Skelgarn? Do you have advance knowledge, by any chance?"

Jayce's face froze. "That's real?"

"I'm afraid so."

Jayce whistled again. "Yeah, I know about it. I thought it was a myth, though. It's sort of like a parasite."

"Go on."

Shifting uncomfortably, Jayce said, "It gets inside of people and controls the electrical impulses that exist between dendrites and axons. It can also corrupt the insides of cell bodies."

Zandred blinked. "I'm sorry. I'll have to have that in Runeterran dialect."

"It's bad for you."

"I see." With a resigned sigh, Zandred sat down and pulled out the Summoners' records again. There was no reason to, but he loved to flip through the giant, leather-bound book. It gave him a sense of purpose, and the rustling of the pages comforted him. "So how would we stop this? What makes it spread?"

Jayce nibbled on his thumbnail, caught himself, and stopped. Damage to his nails would simply not do. "There are generally generators. Sometimes they're synthetic, sometimes they aren't." Seeing Zandred's blank look, he explained, "Sometimes they're manmade. Sometimes they happen in nature."

"Mm. Ezreal will understand what you're saying, correct?"

"Ha. I hope so. He's written entire textbooks on how magic works."

"Good, good. I apologize that my expertise doesn't lie in that area."

Jayce shrugged. "We can't all be Eggheads. That's what they called people like me in Piltover."

"I'm unfamiliar with that term as well," Zandred said, flipping to another page. Ah, Erinae's Summoner record. She really favored mages, especially Brand and Annie. Interesting.

"Egghead is a catch-all term for inventors and scientists in Piltover. That's what the working men would call us. But anyways – to stop the Skelgarn? We would have to destroy whatever was generating it."

"Varadi – he's the barbarian over there – said that that task might prove to be difficult."

"Of course. We would have to reach the generators without becoming corrupted," Ezreal said. Zandred and Jayce looked up.

The Explorer was flanked by Ryland and Katarina. Zandred wasn't much of an Empath, but he thought he detected traces of anger in the set of Ezreal's shoulders and jaw.

Jayce sidled over to him and shook his hand, enveloping Ezreal's with his giant paw. "Well, well. Looks like we needed two hometown heroes."

"Piltover's finest," Ezreal responded.

Katarina folded her arms. Zandred saw that she hadn't taken the time to dress up the way Jayce had – her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and her pants were covered in cat paws. "What do you need, Zandred? I was busy painting my nails." The nails on her right hand glowed a sunny orange.

"Are you all here?"

"We're waiting on Soraka, sir," Jatt said quickly. He, like Varadi, looked awestruck to be among so many Champions at once. Then again, he always looked awestruck. Or surprised. Zandred never knew which.

"I am here," the healer sighed from the back of the room. The Champions shifted to allow her at the front of the crowd. "Moving so soon, are we?"

"Ashe and Tryndamere are convinced we must." Zandred winced when he saw how tired Soraka was. "I apologize for disturbing you."

"No matter."

Turley tugged on Zandred's robes and whispered something. "Ah, the clothiers have completed their task. Bring them in."

While his apprentices hurried away, Zandred cleared his throat. For a brief, crystalline moment, he thought he could feel the Skelgarn as it spread throughout the north. He thought he sensed the great, purple masses trembling with dark energy, eager to feed on whomever it touched. The sensation almost made his mind go blank.

Then, with the eyes of the Champions on him, he began to talk, for that was what he did best.


	7. Final Preparations

Ezreal tried to clear his mind, to focus on Zandred's words, but he couldn't. Lux was there at the end of every thought, waiting.

He remembered one of their dates. She was wearing her black bikini, large white sunglasses perched on her head. Sitting on the sandy shore of the lake at Champions' Retreat, Lux had grinned up at the night sky. "So tell me, great scientist. How many stars are there?"

"More than you or I could ever count."

She laughed and leaned against his shoulder. "I thought you were smart, Ezreal. If anyone's going to count the stars, it's going to be you."

"I'll just try to find a new one instead."

"Why?" She looked into his eyes, then pressed her lips to the base of his neck, right where his skin met his collarbone. He shivered. "Do you have to explore the night sky, too?"

"I'll find one and name it after you. Luxanna Crownguard. It'd have to be a bright one, though. As bright as your abilities."

"Would you really do that?"

"Find you a star? Of course I would. It probably wouldn't be in this galaxy, though."

"It'd be out of this world?" Lux grinned.

Ezreal smiled. "Just like you."

She swatted him in mock outrage. Her sunglasses fell from her head into the sand. "You're so smooth it's disgusting."

At the time, it had been such a simple moment of companionship. Now it burned Ezreal to remember. He blinked rapidly to disperse the beginnings of tears.

_I feel so helpless. I just don't understand. I thought Lux would understand why I wanted a child. Besides, people in Piltover get married as young as fourteen – I'm almost eighteen. She'll be thirty by the time she pops out an heir for Jarvan. _He subconsciously shook his head. _We were so different and we didn't even realize it. We were so distracted by the fun we were having that we didn't even think of the future…_

Ryland tapped his shoulder. _Shhhh. Try not to think of it now. _

_ Stop reading my mind! Can't I have a little privacy? _Ezreal scowled.

Ryland recoiled. _It's not on purpose. Your thoughts are loud. Sometimes they fade in and out – I don't know what's up with that – but I can still hear them most of the time. I'm sorry._

In front of them, Varadi was detailing the effects of the Skelgarn. "The first person it weakened in my tribe was our healer. She was a brave woman, well-attuned to the spirits of the earth. She could conjure fire from the snow and communicate with plants and animals. Perhaps that's why it affected her so quickly." Varadi's green eyes gleamed in the dim lamplight. "I've heard tales from the remnants of other tribes – their healers are always the first to go."

_Soraka_, Ezreal thought uneasily. _She's seemed very tired lately. _

Ryland was thinking the same thing. Though he'd severed most of his and Ezreal's connection intentionally, Ezreal could read his concerns clearly on his face.

Ez glanced at Soraka. Her face was grimly set with determination.

"The people don't die from Skelgarn alone," Varadi continued. "When I said that I was the last of my tribe, I meant that I was the last person capable of following my own heart. Once the Skelgarn consumes them, they follow the path of darkness. Sometimes, if the infection is minor, they carry out a few petty crimes. Bar fights become more common. People steal things, deface each-other's houses. But sometimes the effects are worse."

Varadi swallowed, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing. Turley inconspicuously handed him a glass of water. The barbarian took a long, grateful drink.

"I left my tribe because my kinsmen had turned to murder. Every night, the affected would gather around a large bonfire and choose their next target. Then, they would roast that person alive."

Ezreal blinked.

"I know that's a common idea, that barbarians do that, aye, but we normally don't." Varadi smiled bitterly. "We usually prefer hogs. The night I left, I had been chosen as the target. Before our healer succumbed to their dark rituals – she led them, aye – she told me to seek out the League of Legends, as only you could help."

"Jayce mentioned something about generators," Zandred added. "When you journey north, your mission would be to destroy the machines or artifacts spreading the corruption."

"And we'd be leaving at noonday?" Ashe asked. She was trembling slightly at the thought of such corruption affecting her homeland.

"Yes. By that time, we'll have plenty of supplies packed. I advise you all try to get the best sleep you can."

"Taric will ready relics that prevent us from being infected," Soraka said suddenly. "As well as Nami. Ryland, I may need your powers."

Ryland nodded. "We'll need enough for our group."

"I'll see what I can find about Skelgarn generators in my books," Jayce offered.

Katarina said, "I'll discuss my movement with Jericho Swain. He may know of the Skelgarn." Her catlike eyes were shining with excitement at the prospect of a journey. Sitting idle for so long at the League made the outing even more exciting to her, especially because it was dangerous.

Ezreal wanted to chime in, but sadness covered his body like a wet blanket. All he really wanted to do was go to bed and sleep for about two days, to pull the sheets over his head and curl up with a flashlight and a good book.

When the meeting broke, Ezreal made his way back to the Support Quarters alone, as Ryland conspicuously tried to give him space. Overhead, the stars turned in their icy, endless waltz. The wind freshened against his face. A Champion or two passed him on his travels, and he thought he spied Evelynn and Twitch before they melted back into the shadows.

He found himself wondering what happened when he'd died facing Zed. Ryland apparently had memories of the afterlife that he wouldn't share with Ezreal, and after Lux's panic attacks following her resurrection, Ezreal wasn't sure he wanted to know what Ryland had seen. The thought of a scary afterlife depressed him even more.

At least Zed was gone. Even in the face of everything, that was one thing he could cling to. The moment was still so clear to him: power filling him, exploding inside of him, ending Zed's life and his own. Though he'd always thought killing was wrong, he'd done so to protect Lux and the League. In protecting the League, he'd safeguarded all of Runeterra.

He tried to tell himself he hadn't enjoyed killing. But hadn't some strong emotion- a frenzied euphoria – overtaken him as his power melted Zed's body, and his own? Didn't he love to look into the eyes of his enemy on the Rift, and strike down their hopes with a Mystic Shot? Didn't that fierce joy mean he liked to kill? Or that he wanted to kill himself?

Ezreal shook his head slowly, trying to clear it. It was difficult to keep thoughts from crowding in – the night was unusually quiet. He yearned to have someone to talk to.

_ I shouldn't be so angry at Ryland. He's just trying to protect me. It doesn't matter why he does it – he's put himself in danger so many times that I at least owe him my gratitude._

_ But I don't need a protector! _A different part of him snarled. _The way he hovers irritates me. I wish he and Lux didn't think of me as a child._

_It means he cares for you, _a quiet voice whispered. Ezreal paused, breathing. This mental presence he couldn't place. It sounded warm and familiar, intimate. As if it knew him. "Hello?" Ezreal said softly. "Who is it?"

The voice didn't say anything else. Its presence – a warm, smiling blue – gradually faded from Ezreal's mind, leaving him alone again beneath the moon.

_ That's one thing I definitely miss about exploring. Being truly alone with my thoughts. From the moment I arrived at the Institute, I've been surrounded by people. _

Once back inside the Supports' Quarters, he caught a glimpse inside of Ryland's room, where the Supports were imbuing relics with sacred power. Soraka, Taric and Ryland were chanting, seated in a triangle on the floor. The small stone figures were arranged in front of them.

Ezreal noted his diffusal suit sitting beside the cot in the fore-room. He went to his room anyways, half-hoping Lux would still be there.

But she was gone. Not only gone, but all traces of her existence had been scrubbed from the place. Flicking on the bathroom lights, he saw her soaps and shampoos missing, the few makeup products vanished. Her personal pillows were pilfered from the bed, leaving small indentions.

Numbness crept across Ezreal's fingers. He fumbled open the latch to their wardrobe. Shirts of his hung clustered, along with pants in different sizes to accommodate his still-growing body. But Lux's tops were missing.

He thumbed through every outfit. Gone. Except for –

Ezreal spied it at the very back of his closet. Luxanna's scarf. A crimson red banner. At one point, she'd tied it around his wrist, laughing. "Every knight needs a token of his lady before he rides into battle."

"I think it'd look better around your wrists, honestly. Besides, the Champions will give me so much shit if I wear something this flamboyant on the Rift."

"Aw. Do it for me anyways. Please?"

And how could he resist those sparkly blue eyes?

Ezreal dug the buried scrap out of the closet and pressed it to his nose. Lux's small – fresh, sunny violets – filled him.

_I didn't mean to be so harsh. It just shocked me…of all the guys, Jarvan? I just wanted to marry her, to take care of her. She'd be mine, and I, hers. _

He bowed his head. Standing there felt like an eternity as he moved his fingers across the scarf's silky length, head empty of all thoughts, mind blissfully quiet. At last he tucked the scarf next to his heart with a small sigh.

He remembered the advice his advisor had given him in Piltover. _Ezreal, a true explorer never stops moving. His feet follow his restless heart. _

So he turned to move, only to find Lux standing behind him, hands clasped together. "I'm sorry," she began. "I was just double-checking to see –"

Ezreal moved towards her. Before she could react, he caught her in a powerful embrace. She hesitated, then returned it.

"I'm sorry for earlier. I overreacted," Ezreal murmured into her hair.

"I think we had a breakdown in communication. It happens to couples all the time."

"I was still overly harsh."

"As was I."

Ezreal pulled her closer. "I'm headed north tomorrow. I don't know how long I'll be gone. I think…we should both take the time to work through our feelings. And you can do whatever you see fit."

Lux's lips trembled. "You're so mature for your age. I'm sorry for doubting you."

He nodded and kissed her forehead. "I'll return to you. I promise."

"I love you, Ezreal."

"I love you, too."

* * *

Soraka wiped sweat from her brow. "That's enough for now. How many totems is that?"

"About half as many as we need," Taric offered helpfully. "The Tidecaller and I will have the remainder ready for the journey tomorrow. Karma and Sona will assist us as well."

Soraka nodded, rubbing her palms on her dress. "Make sure they're at full capacity. Varadi's words have assured us that the Skelgarn is a worthy foe."

Taric inclined his head. "We will not fail you."

Ryland got to his feet with a grimace. Soraka brushed his shoulder with her dainty fingers. "Why do you look so troubled, my apprentice? Your frown tonight is particularly deep."

"Varadi said that the healer in his tribe was affected first by the Skelgarn –"

"And you worry for my safety. I will be charging three relics continuously." Soraka frowned. "Ryland, I may be stronger in healing, but you're many times stronger in Empath than I am. Shouldn't you be worried more for yourself?"

"Since we don't know which area the healer was strongest in, we don't know how the Skelgarn works. Varadi mentioned elements of Empath and healing magic. It could affect you more strongly, or me, or both of us the same."

"You should charge your own relics as well, just to be safe."

"Perhaps an extra one for Ezreal, too."

"Why?" Taric mused. "The boy doesn't show much potential for healing or Empath. Only for destruction."

"But if he is corrupted, he would prove a formidable foe to face," Ryland said. "If only we weren't going into this with so many unknown variables."

Soraka closed her eyes. "Yes, but our explorations of the unknown often yield the most knowledge. For instance, our journey northward will bring the causes of the Skelgarn to light, so we can learn how to prevent it."

"Maybe it will bring peace to Freljord," Ryland murmured.

Taric chuckled. "I'm not so sure about that much, little one. The feuds have carried on for so long that the thirst for blood seems bred into every barbarian."

"Little one? Taric, I'm twice your height!"

Soraka smiled. "Well, people change. Ryland might be right. I'm actually going to sleep now. Good night."

"Rest well," Ryland said softly. He kissed two fingers and pressed them to her cheek, an Ionian symbol of fondness. She clasped them. "Eries non tu," she said.

Ryland shook his head. "I don't speak the dialect."

"Ah. Another thing I must teach you. The list will never end," she said, departing.

Taric nodded and saw himself out.

Ryland rubbed sleep from his eyes and placed two extra relics in his shirt. One for him, and one for the Prodigal Explorer.

_But I won't tell him about it. He'll just get angry that I'm trying to protect him._

Ezreal entered his room stealthily, the clothier's pack slung over his back. He looked half-mystical by the flickering candlelight, his golden tresses catching and reflecting errant rays. His eyes were blue as a lake, even in the gloom. Ryland hesitated, still longing to talk to him, but he stopped himself. _Space. I have to give him space._

Ezreal put the clothier's pack on the cot. "Guess I better start digging, eh?"

"The packs are pretty heavy, aren't they?"

"Yeah. How'd the clothiers get all this ready so quickly?"

"Some of it's borrowed from Summoners, some of it's purchased. And I've heard rumors about a magic spinning wheel that's based on how meanly the clothiers treat the Novices."

Ezreal's lips quirked. "Probably a Piltover invention."

"Most likely," Ryland said. He refrained from asking the Explorer questions, like _How do you feel about Jayce? _And _Have you talked to Lux?_

Ezreal dug through the bag curiously. There were two large bundles of soft, high-quality shirts in every color imaginable, from blood red to dusky purple. Seven pairs of blue jeans were tightly folded and tied together with twine.

The item taking up the most space was a new jacket. Ezreal stroke the lining – wolf's fur, no doubt. The fabric itself was a pure, snowy white that made his eyes ache. "Guess beggars can't be choosers."

Ryland looked over his shoulder. "You got lucky. My coat is eggshell blue."

"Eggshell?" Ezreal laughed aloud. "I think you earned that coat by knowing the name of the color."

Ryland let Ez finish packing before he snuffed the lamps in the fore-room. He laid down, listening to the rhythmic gushing water as the Explorer showered. He half-closed his eyes, still charging the relics with his conscious energy.

The extra one he'd chosen for himself was a small, gray quartzite figure of a bear. Ezreal's extra was a hawk with outstretched wings and a deadly look in its carved eyes. A mixture of onyx and agate, its black body was fletched with brilliant strands of azure blue. It reminded Ryland of Ezreal. A mixture of light and dark resulting in magnificent beauty.

If the Supports had had more time, they could've prepared their relics more carefully. Ordinarily, relics were tested for days to see if their hidden nature matched which person they'd be protecting, or what their capacity for storing magic energy was. In the rush, Soraka and Taric had selected a few generalized ones and hoped to imbue them with as many protective forces as they could, from Sona's music to Nami's tidal energy.

Half-asleep, Ryland felt Katarina crawl into the bed beside him, a strand of ruby hair tickling his nose. "I see we have a visitor," she murmured, referring to Ezreal's slumbering form on the cot. "That's usually not a good sign. What happened?"

"Lux got pregnant, so they got into a fight." Ryland rolled over, sandwiching the relics between he and Katarina's bodies. He relished her heat.

Kat took the news like most Noxians – without surprise. "Poor Lux."

"She didn't tell Ezreal about her engagement to J4."

"I thought he knew. Everyone knows. That's old news – about twenty-four years old, to be exact."

"No, he didn't. And he doesn't really subscribe to the idea of political marriages, either. He doesn't want to be a servant-boy with unusually close ties to the queen."

Katarina was silent. Ryland wrapped an arm around her, waiting.

"Poor Ezreal," she said at last.

"Yeah. Poor Ezreal."

Ryland closed his eyes, and sleep took him in under a minute.


	8. Interlude: Cold

Ezreal stirred uneasily. The bad dreams had returned, stealing over him like a dusky blanket of snow clouds. He saw himself clambering up a snowy peak, his fingers raw and bleeding. Two of his fingernails had frozen and fallen off. Luxanna's scarf, wound around his neck, flapped in the icy wind like a banner. Frigid tears coursed down his face, borne of pain and cold.

"You will not win!" a voice called, joining the thunderous calling of the gale. "You'll be crushed alive!" The mountain beneath his fingers began to give way, to crack and groan. Ezreal panted harshly, scrambling even faster. The snow – and endless sheet of white – rushed towards him.

He awoke with a start. Ryland was peering down at him, his gray-green eyes clearly revealing how disturbed he was. The first pale fingers of dawn were reaching through the curtains.

"I'm sorry, Ez." Ryland backed away. "I just – you were having a bad dream. You were talking."

"About what?" Ezreal sat up cautiously, freeing his skin from a blanket dampened by night sweats. Purple spots swam before his eyes.

"Ice. Nothing but ice. And Lux." Ryland looked away. "Something about an icy tomb. You were mumbling."

Ezreal shuddered. That huge, crashing wave of white. As if the ocean itself were bearing down on you.

"You two, break it up." Katarina appeared, brushing her teeth. Even in the early morning, her beauty was astonishing – her porcelain skin unblemished, the curve of her lips a rosy pomegranate.

But her beauty wasn't what caught Ezreal's attention. Beneath her tight black shirt, he could see the outlines of blades. The outlines of her breasts, too.

Catching his stare, Katarina smirked. Through her toothbrush she said, "What's wrong, explorer boy? See something you like?"

"I – no. Wait. Not like that. I just – how many daggers are you wearing?"

"Six, for now." Katarina tossed her hair. "Once I get my complete outfit on, I should be able to carry at least fifteen. Hopefully that's enough to stave off the inevitable ambushes."

"Ambushes?" Ryland echoed. "What are you talking about?"

Katarina blinked. "Are you two really that dense?"

"I guess so," Ez muttered. "I wasn't expecting an ambush."

"We're going to have half a dozen of the most important Champions in the League in one place. I have a feeling we're going to be targets for many people. Demacians, Noxians, and the Freljordians."

"But we're trying to help the Freljord." Ryland looked lost.

Katarina scoffed. "Ryland – you've seen firsthand how stupid politics can make people act."

_She's talking about Demacia_, Ezreal realized. A mental image of Jarvan danced briefly behind his eyes before he forced it out of his head.

"Anyways, Erinae's probably looking for us. I'd hurry up."

"Right."

Unnerved by the idea of ambushes, Ezreal got dressed in his comfiest travel clothes – faded blue jeans and a forest green shirt that showed off his tight stomach.

He looked curiously into the bathroom mirror. All that running around on the Rift had definitely lent lean muscle to his body.

He'd always been self-conscious of his looks, especially since receiving mixed messages from the League. Many of the female Champions found his slim figure attractive, and loved his blond hair and blue eyes. But the rest of the Champions – the Carries in particular – often mocked him for looking feminine.

It was something he had no control over. He couldn't change the Cupid's bow shape of his lips, or the cool, crystalline blue of his eyes. He couldn't make his shoulders broader.

_Even with fighting on the Rift every day, I'll still never be as ripped as Jayce. _

The Defender of Tomorrow loved to work out. His build was part of what distinguished them. Jayce towered even over Ryland, who was almost as tall as Darius. His chest and shoulders were massive – they had to be, to lift that enormous Mercury Hammer.

Besides being a hunk of muscle, Jayce was sophisticated in a way Ezreal wasn't. He always knew what clothes were in style, what the newest music was. He always wore cologne.

_I don't understand. Jayce is just as smart as I am, but he's not…a geek. I bet if I looked like Jayce, Lux would dump Jarvan in a heartbeat. _

Ez shook his head as he scrubbed his teeth, then splashed his cheeks with cold water.

_I shouldn't get jealous of him now. I'll have to work with him for the next few weeks. _

He no longer had to paint triangles beneath his eyes. The scars were already there, always red. A side effect of the Overflow. The paint had bonded to his skin, burning him. It had become part of him.

When he went to rejoin Kat and Ryland, Soraka was talking to them in muted tones. Her silver hair was plaited in a long braid that fell past her shoulders. He was surprised to see a silver circlet resting on her head, with a large purple amethyst in the center.

Ezreal felt the hair on his neck prickle._ I think they're talking about Lux..._

Soraka sensed him and whirled towards him. "Ah! I have a gift for you, Ezreal. Wait a moment." She dug around in her pack and pulled out a large sapphire dangling from a piece of black twine. "I've been meaning to give you this for a while, since you shattered the gem on your gauntlet. This Voxstone should help channel your energy more efficiently, to help prevent Overflow. I've also taken the liberty of packing your diffusal suit."

Ezreal took the stone, marveling at the way it seemed to absorb the morning light and hold it in its center. "Thank you, Soraka."

Still, something nagged at him. _The healers are all terrified that I'm going to Overflow. I wouldn't hurt any of them on purpose. At least…I don't think I would._ Aloud he said, "I did a paper on Voxstones once. They're really rare. How'd you find one?"

Soraka smiled. "When your best friend is the Gem Knight, rare stones seem to turn up with unusual regularity."

Katarina cracked her knuckles. "So what are we waiting on?"

"Totems. Taric, Sona and Nami are finishing up objects that should keep us safe."

Ezreal nodded. _I just realized how different a role the Supports play than other Champions. The Marksmen seem selfish in comparison. They just play their League matches, then hang out and eat._ _But the Supports train and counsel people – _

His thoughts were interrupted by Erinae crashing through the Supports' Quarters' doors. _I bet her legs are really toned from running all over the Institute_, Ezreal thought sourly.

"Lissandra and Trundle are missing!" she cried.

Ryland blinked. "What? Are you serious? I thought Lissandra said the Skelgarn spread was coincidental."

"Obviously not," Soraka murmured, shaking her hand.

Katarina's face filled with disgust. "You all will never learn just how deeply corruption runs, will you? I would've had a watch over her if I were you."

"There was a watch," Erinae panted, doubling over. Her clothiers' pack was massive, dwarfing her tiny frame. "Both Summoners are corrupted by Skelgarn. Zandred requires healers."

Soraka hesitated. "Was it Jatt and Turley?" She, like many other of the Champions, was fond of the hapless Summoners.

Erinae shook her head, sending her pale blond hair flopping. "No, but we still need help."

"Wait here for Taric," Soraka said, grabbing Ryland's wrist.

He nodded grimly. "Be safe."

Soraka took off after Erinae, hooves clacking loudly against the floor.

* * *

Soraka felt her muscles begin to sear as she charged after Erinae's retreating form. She focused on taking measured breaths and allowing pain into her body. Pain was her friend. It was a natural sensation. Best to embrace it.

But it was difficult to focus because random snippets of thought kept invading her mind. _How will I heal two corrupted people? I've charged so many totems, and the barbarian yesterday nearly sapped my reservoir of power. I even enchanted the Voxstone a bit. I can't have much left._

Soraka tried to push self-doubt from her mind. Pain was natural, but doubting one's self was not. One must always be calm, assured.

She hadn't gotten any sleep last night.

_And why is that, stupid? You were thinking about your best student, weren't you? _

Yes. She might as well admit it to herself. Hardly a moment went by when she wasn't thinking of Ryland. The curve of his jaw, or how his gray-green eyes sparkled in the sun, or how strong his Empath powers were.

What really intrigued her was his brotherly love for Ezreal. How it burned him like a living flame, but how he kept his distance from Ezreal, guarding him like the Void Wolf from the Noxian stories.

Soraka was there when Ryland sacrificed himself – she'd watched the starburst of silver energy pour out of him and into Ezreal, mending his body. Her heart had been cleft in two. She knew that Ezreal had to live, to save the League and Runeterra. And she knew that she wanted Ryland to stay alive instead.

They were two variations on the same theme. Light and dark hair, silver and gold power. Both of them bursting with nigh-uncontrollable magic.

Perhaps that's why she was attracted to Ryland, because of his strange relationships. As someone who dealt with human emotion constantly, she found the contradictions within him interesting.

_I don't need to interfere with another human's relationship_, she told herself firmly. It had always ended poorly, since Warwick. Ezreal's stormy emotions were already sapping Ryland's power. Soraka didn't need to tip the scales the other way by interfering with Katarina. She'd probably have two supernovas on her hands.

_What more satisfaction could I gain from him? I've already taught him to heal and to love._

Still, she felt tiny pangs of jealousy. Soon enough Ryland was going to pick up on them. The sheer volume of his Empath power made that a certainty.

Best not to spend too much time in her student's company.

Soraka shook her head as Zandred came into view. _Focus. Now I must heal._

* * *

Ezreal impatiently tapped his foot. He had a bad case of the jitters, and flinched when Ryland touched his shoulder.

"Relax," Ryland said softly. "There's nothing you could do, anyways. You aren't a healer."

"I have a little bit of Empath power now. Maybe I could do something."

"Soraka's taking care of it," Katarina said absently. She nibbled the ends of her ruby hair. "God, the League is so stupid sometimes. Why don't we have an internal police force?"

"Because the Champions shouldn't need to be policed. They should do the right thing because it's honorable," Ryland said. "We aren't Noxus."

Katarina arched an eyebrow. "I have a feeling you still haven't come to terms with your family tree yet."

Ryland looked out of a slightly-open window. A breeze came through it, gently rustling the branches of the enormous tree in the Supports' lobby.

"Maybe I haven't. I have doubts that Darius is my father because we have nothing in common."

"The Noxian soldiers always said his and Draven's parents were powerful mages." Katarina shrugged. "You have his face."

The three of them waited in contemplative silence until Taric appeared, carrying a tiny bag slung over his shoulder. The totems inside it clicked together. Ezreal was shocked to see how pale the Gem Knight had gotten, displaying delicate webs of veins beneath his skin. His usually glittering eyes were dim and muted.

"Ryland, where's Soraka? I had hoped to see her off."

When Ryland explained, Taric uttered a Noxian curse that almost made Ezreal blush. "The Institute either needs stronger Champions or stronger Summoners. These unchecked security breaches cannot continue," he said. Then he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Come with me. Soraka probably needs our help."

Ezreal shivered as he followed the group into the morning light. _If the Skelgarn has reached this far, how do we know we're safe?_

_We don't, _Ryland sent. _We never do._


	9. Part 2: North

Zandred wasn't aware of his shaking hands until Soraka came to a halt in front of him, in front of the Ivory Quarters. Then he realized that his hands were quaking like aspen leaves in a high, winter wind. Two Summoners clearly displaying the effects of the Skelgarn were lying in front of him. Their purple robes were dotted with the gray-green moss of corruption. Their skin was ashen gray.

"Oh, thank heavens," he murmured. "You're here."

Soraka knelt before the two men with a sigh. "Who did this? What happened?"

"The most likely suspect is Lissandra. She's gone. She left." Zandred scrubbed at his face. The morning air was cool and damp against his face, chilling it. "Trundle's with her. There's just too many Champions to keep track of here. All with their different motives – "

"Lissandra, eh?" Behind him, Varadi spat. The barbarian had trailed Zandred from his office. "I didn't know ye housed pure evil here, too, Zandred of Zaun."

Zandred gritted his teeth. He didn't have time to explain subjective viewpoints of evil or differences in public policy to a barbarian.

"Well, we'll be racing Lissandra to the north, then," Soraka said simply. "We'll be trailing her by many leagues."

"Some say the Ice Witch has the ability to teleport," Varadi said under his breath.

Soraka had already closed her eyes. He heard her reciting healing chants in Ionian dialect over the more-corrupted Summoner. Silver-green energy flowed from her hands, but its light was dimmer than usual, soft ribbons in the mist.

"What causes the difference in levels of corruption, Varadi, Eye of the Wolf?" Zandred was careful to add the barb's title as a sign of respect.

"Like I said, it's often attributed to psychic powers."

"He probably liked to summon mages," Zandred whispered. _Oh, this is terrible. I wonder if I should send Erinae after all._ "Soraka, do you have control of the situation?"

"As much control as can be had, Zandred." Soraka winced when she moved her hands to the other Summoner, as if healing them pained her. Perhaps it did. Zandred knew little about the healing arts.

"Very well. I have to complete preparations. Ashe and Tryndamere will want to leave as soon as possible."

Zandred met up with two horse-savvy Summoners at the mouth of the market that clung to the outskirts of the Institute of War. The many shops catered to Summoners, Champions, and the gawkers who watched the Summoners' Cups.

Zandred waited impatiently as the Summoners looked over coats, examined teeth and tested knees. Whatever money the merchant demanded for the horse, Zandred immediately paid. They continued like this over several vendors until they had enough horses for the entire contingent.

"The Ivory Quarters." Ezreal sighed. "Let me guess – Lissandra stayed here?"

The Ivory Quarters was reserved strictly for Champions without political or regional affiliations. Ezreal thought that, if he hadn't enjoyed Lux and Ryland's company, he would have been there, too. The small enclave and silence around it suited him.

Diana stayed there, alongside Twisted Fate. Riven and Janna resided there as well. Other Champions frequented it, often to buy smuggled cigars or wine.

The Quarters were small but kept up well, guarded by high shrubs. The building got its name from being painted all white – one of the most neutral colors the Champions agreed on.

The two corrupted Summoners on the ground were stirring. Soraka stood up as Ryland reached her and stumbled. Her knees weakened. Ryland caught her, cradling in her arms.

"Are you alright?"

She looked up at him. _He always looks so compassionate…_ "I feel a little ill, but I'll be alright." She struggled to free herself from his grasp. _He mustn't sense me now. He can't touch me._

When she could stand upright, she searched his gaze for any hint that he suspected her, but all she saw was the light of concern. "The Skelgarn may have reached here," he said at last, eyeing her.

"It probably hasn't spread this far, no. But I've been in contact with it frequently. Too frequently." Eager to shift attention away from herself, she looked to Taric. "Are the totems acceptable?"

"I believe so."

Erinae, impatient, waved them forward. "Let's go in. Zandred said he doesn't want you all clustered where other Champions can see you."

About an hour later, the other members of their expedition had joined them. "We'll need a dedicated supply carrier," Erinae was saying, gold eyes flashing with excitement. In Zandred's absence, she'd taken charge of the gathering of Champions. "We have prototypical lightweight tents from Piltover, but it's fairly heavy."

Jayce stopped her. "It's no trouble for me, Erinae. I'll take care of it."

"Are you absolutely sure?" Erinae looked hopeful. She passed her overstuffed bag to Jayce, then cracked her back. "Man, that feels good."

The Defender of Tomorrow hefted it onto his other shoulder. His Mercury Hammer glowed with secretive light in the half-light of the morning. "Yeah, I'm sure. I barely feel it."

Ezreal scowled. Predictably, Ryland reached out and touched his shoulder. "Not everyone can be super strong."

"He doesn't have to be so cocky about it," Ezreal muttered.

Katarina snorted. "You'd be if you were that strong."

Ezreal felt his heart dip even deeper when the doors to the Ivory Quarters smacked backwards. Garen, Shyvana, and Quinn strode through the door, followed by a very impatient looking Jarvan IV. The prince was almost as tall as Jayce, and had the same rugged, masculine looks. Though he wore no crown, one could guess he was the Demacian prince solely by his regal bearing.

Instinctively, Ezreal's feet carried him towards Jarvan. Ryland held him back with a hand over his chest. Beneath his palm, Ryland felt Ezreal's heart rate rise_. Damnit. Not again_.

Jarvan scanned the crowd, eventually settling on Erinae. He walked towards her, dwarfing her with his bulk. "Where's Zandred, little one?"

"He's making final preparations for our journey. May I assist you?" Erinae's voice was calm, but Ez thought he detected faint note of sarcasm. He'd forgotten what political affiliation Erinae was, but it probably wasn't the standard Demacian.

Jarvan eyed her. "I've come to secure my place on the journey as an emissary of Demacia."

Ezreal felt his heart stutter. Ryland and Katarina exchanged a glance and groaned inwardly. Erinae's golden eyes slanted.

"I'm afraid we don't have a position available."

Jarvan bent down to her, emphasizing his height. His craggy face was mere inches away from Erinae's face. She flinched backwards. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to exercise my political right as Demacian prince to procure a space on the journey.

"You can't do that," Erinae mumbled. She knew she was defeated.

Jarvan smiled and stood up, drawing himself to his full princely height. Ezreal had to stop the subconscious snarl that spread over his face.

Addressing the entire crowd, Jarvan said, "If the Freljordians can interfere with the goings-on of the League, Demacia has every right to be involved. Besides, it's been a while since I've been on an adventure."

"I see," Tryndamere said. He, Ashe, Sejuani and Varadi were clustered in the back of the room.

Ezreal couldn't contain himself. "What about the Demacians controlling the League up until a few months ago?"

Ryland winced. It was true – for many years, the Institute had only had Demacians on its advisory board. It was even rumored that Summoners were discriminated against based on their nationalities, and that citizens of Bilgewater and Shurimana were purposely excluded from the Summoner's Cup.

The assassination attempts on the Noxians had changed that entirely. So had Zandred's appointment as Venerable Summoner, since he was from Zaun.

Jarvan's face hardened. "Though I thank you for your services to Runeterra, I have no time for such childish words. Buried blood is buried."

He did an about face, signaling to the Explorer that the conversation was over.

For a few moments, silence reigned in the Ivory Quarters. Then, the Champions gradually split into groups, talking quietly among themselves.

"You shouldn't give him the satisfaction," Kat sniffed. "He's a pretentious ass, just like most Demacians."

"I know it's hard," Ryland added.

Ezreal shook his head. "No, you don't. Is Katarina betrothed to Darius or Swain?"

Ryland's gaze softened. "I know what it's like to love someone you can't have." He paused. Katarina and Ezreal stared at him. He cleared his throat awkwardly, then lowered his voice. "I had a crush on a girl at school. She thought I was a total dweeb."

"Sure." Kat rolled her eyes. "That's exactly the same thing as losing a pr –" Ryland cut her off, seeing the curious glances of Jayce and Jarvan. "Pretty girlfriend," Katarina finished.

_For a spy, you're really not that subtle. _Ryland sent.

_Pah. I'm sure everyone already knows. Three can keep a secret only if two of them are dead. _Katarina's eyes flickered.

"Anyways, chin up, Ezreal. We're going exploring." Ryland half-smiled with great effort. The mixture of sadness and anger radiating from the Prodigal Explorer was getting under his skin. "Shouldn't that be enough to make you happy?"

"Yeah," Ezreal said, looking away. "Yeah, it should."

* * *

"Are you positively sure you don't require additional supplies?" Zandred swallowed. In truth, he was afraid of watching some of the strongest Champions in the League leave. The horses whickered near his ear.

Erinae was exchanging hugs with Jatt and Turley. "Bring me a souvenir," Turley said.

"All I'll have is snow." Erinae hid her grin. "There aren't many gift shops in Freljord."

"Bring me some snow, then." Turley smiled broadly. "That's hard to get around here."

Jatt smacked him. "It'll melt, stupid."

"It's still snow!"

"It'll be water!"

Zandred tore his focus away from the argument – those lads were incredibly dense sometimes – and concentrated on Ashe instead. The Queen pursed her lips and shook her head. "We must leave now if we have any hope of catching Lissandra and Trundle."

So saying, she swung herself on to her horse, a massive stallion with a pure white coat. "Fare thee well, Zandred."

"And you, my Queen."

Zandred looked over the knot of Champions once more. Ashe, Tryndamere and Varadi sat astride identical white stallions. Soraka's brown horse pranced near Ryland's gray one. As Zandred watched, Soraka kissed Taric's cheek.

Jayce and Jarvan were discussing the best way to arrange the necessity packs on their horses. The Prince had gotten the harebrained idea of accompanying the contingent, and Zandred didn't think it was his place to stop him. Only Ezreal was alone, stroking his black horse's neck.

Zandred watched as Varadi led the small parade out of the Institute's gates and into the heart of the North.

* * *

About two leagues out, the terrain became an endless sea of grass, waving in the wind. They'd left traces of civilization behind. Ezreal tilted his face towards the sun. He felt very annoyed, but he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the questing glances Ryland sent his way, trying to taste his thoughts. Maybe it was Varadi's constant chatter.

But most likely it was how Jayce and Jarvan rode near the rear of their group, already seeming to have a friendship in the making. One that excluded him, of course. It was just like the original exclusion by the Marksmen. Even now, Graves and Miss Fortune treated him with distance, never allowing them into his inner circles. He'd accepted the fact that Ashe would never ask him to coffee, or that Caitlyn would never bring him muffins.

He had no friends, not really. He wasn't even sure how his relationship to Lux would be when he returned. _Can I trust her? _He leaned closer to the horse's neck, closing his eyes, drawing its musty fur into its nose.

_No wonder Lux wants Jarvan. _The thought played over and over in his head, enveloping him until he dropped into a semi-doze.

"So, yeah, Ezreal's pretty upset." Jayce looked over at Jarvan to gauge his reaction. Jarvan smirked.

"And where did you hear this outrageous tale, might I ask?"

"Janna told me about half a week ago." Jayce stroked his horse's mane. Ahead, Varadi was slowing the pack's pace to a trot, most likely so they didn't tire the horses. "So, what do you think about it, friend?"

Jarvan's lip curled in disgust. "I'm surprised that Lux is pregnant, but not surprised it's by Ezreal. She's always had such an immature crush on him. It's because he's so feminine."

"Is he really?" Jayce peered over at the Explorer, who appeared to be napping.

"Well, maybe feminine isn't the right word. But he's certainly not a man. He's a boy."

"So what are you going to do?"

Jarvan sighed. "I trust Lux to do the right thing."

"Yeah, but…" Jayce looked away. "Do you love her?"

Jarvan looked surprised. "It's a political marriage. That shouldn't be a problem."

"I don't know. I've always wanted that special girl, the one you spoil with wine and roses."

Jarvan scoffed. "You Piltovers are always so idealistic. Lux is getting a kingdom. Isn't that enough?"

"What happens if she doesn't want to marry you?"

"Then I'll force her to. She's my birthright." Jarvan turned towards Jayce. "I don't see the problem. In fact, I'll probably force the marriage as soon as I return. I'm tired of her fucking the little blond stable boy."


	10. Inauspicious Beginning

Lissandra watched as the first flake of snow whirled past her. Then another. Soon, the dancing crystals swept all around her, a few of them brushing her lips like an icy kiss. The terrain beneath her was wild and dark, gray craggy rocks and steep mountain faces. Every color was vanishing beneath of coat of white.

With her keen eyes she saw the army of trolls approaching from miles away, a brown mass against the ivory ground. Until they arrived, she contented herself with the company of the snow. Each flake seemed to whisper a different story – a tale of winter.

It was good to be home.

Ez was startled awake by the horse's sudden halt. The others stumbled to a stop, some of them uttering curses, others trying to calm their horses with soft words or gentle pats. Ezreal squinted.

A forest lay before them. The trees reached their branches upward, tasting the sky.

Erinae turned her horse so that she faced the rest of the travelers. She fiddled with her blonde hair nervously. "I'm not sure we should go in there. Perhaps it would be best to go around."

Varadi scoffed. "The fastest way through is the forest. Going around will cost time, and Lissandra is already far ahead. Don't tell me your courage fails you now."

Inclining her head, Erinae said, "I've heard terrible things about this area. Folktales from my people."

"We have warriors enough," grunted Tryndamere. Jayce and Jarvan exchanged glances.

Erinae nodded and dismounted her horse. The others followed suit.

"What's the point of having this stupid beast if I can't ride it?" Katarina grumbled.

"Do you want to break your neck?" Ryland patted his horse's side as they walked into the woods. The thick, leafy canopy blocked out much of the sun, leaving only slanting light that reminded Ezreal of cathedral windows. "We obviously don't know what's in there."

"Shouldn't the barbarian know?" Ezreal slowed his walk, falling into step with Ryland.

"The Skelgarn," Ryland explained. "He was in a complete daze."

"Makes you wonder how he got to the League," Ezreal said, nibbling his thumbnail. "Might have been the Skelgarn telling him to come. Like it wants us to find the generators."

"Thanks for the cheery outlook." Kat laughed bitterly.

"It makes sense, doesn't it? Varadi said he was following his own heart, but he looked pretty corrupted to me." Ezreal intently watched the barbarian at the head of the congregation.

"So what would that mean in terms of the journey?" Ryland looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Oh. The journey's a trap."

"Lovely," Ryland growled. "And we have to spring it regardless, or else the Skelgarn spreads."

"That's what makes it a good trap," Ezreal said patiently. "It plays with your mind, makes you doubt other people."

"He's right," Kat added. A small moth fluttered into her hair, and she brushed it away. "Noxians know all about them."

They walked onward in silence. Ezreal could understand Erinae's hesitation to enter the forest. The tree branches arched overhead, dappling the world with mysterious green shadows. He heard a brook trickling nearby, and felt the ground change to a springy cushion of moss. The names of trees – vitae, arlan – came to mind as they pressed forward.

Maybe Ryland was right – maybe exploring would be enough to soothe his troubled heart. Until he heard Jarvan say something. Then he was immediately irritated again.

"I side with the barbarian guide – this forest doesn't appear to be dangerous."

"Probably wouldn't know a margot wolf if it ate his head," Ez muttered. Katarina glanced at him, humor dancing in her eyes.

"No offense, doll, but you seem incredibly ignorant of Demacia's royal family."

"My specialty is more about artifacts. Shamans, tribal practice. The royal family is boring."

Kat lowered her voice. "Even I know that Jarvan spent many years training in forests, proving himself to be a man. Some say that when he returned, he was different somehow. Like the forest had changed him. Thought he might be possessed."

Ezreal gritted his teeth, wincing when his boot sank into a hidden mud puddle. _He's an explorer, too? God, I don't stand a chance with Lux. _

Behind him, Soraka suddenly cried out. Ezreal whirled. An arrow tufted with blood-red feathers jutted from beneath her breastbone. Her golden eyes were wide and blank with shock.

The group stared slack-jawed as blood oozed from the wound. Then another arrow whizzed past Ez's face, almost striking him or his horse. It grazed his cheek.

"We're being attacked!" he called. "Get down!"

Ashe's horse whinnied and reared, forelegs striking the air. Ashe scrabbled at its neck but fell to the ground, just as another arrow pierced her horse beneath the jaw. Ryland threw himself in front of Soraka, blocking her from the assault.

Ez rubbed his eyes. Months on the Rift as a Marksman had trained him to fight, but he still had to evaluate the situation. He noticed Katarina doing the same thing – breathing slowly, steadily, ignoring the chaos as the Freljordians struggled to restrain their spirited stallions.

The arrows were coming from all directions at random intervals. Ezreal's eyes caught a flicker of movement darting to his right. It was a shadow among shadows.

He and Kat bolted towards it simultaneously. Kat's dagger reached the thing's throat before Ezreal's Mystic Shot did. The gnarled form fell to the ground with a whimper.

"Trolls," Kat muttered beneath her breath.

Ezreal spat. "Doesn't matter. There's more of them. Let's find them."

As Jayce fired shots of energy into the forest, Kat and Ezreal chased the other creatures down. They were surprisingly nimble for having legs knotted and rough like tree trunks.

It became a game, a race to see who shed the most enemy blood. Ez called on his power to speed him, and left trails of gold sparks dancing in the dim forest behind him. Kat melded with the shade, leaping from tree to tree and hurling daggers.

Exhilaration filled Ezreal with each new target he brought down. _Maybe there's something to being in the military after all._ The exercise banished all thoughts of Lux from his mind.

When they felled the last one, Kat and Ezreal waited beside its corpse, listening for the whistling cry of the arrow. None came.

Ez knelt beside the dead creature, frowning. About three feet tall, lean and bony, with cracked green skin and pointed ears, it had to be a troll of some sort.

Kat sat beside him, panting. "I'm so out of shape." She pushed strands of red hair from her face and leaned back, chest heaving. Ezreal looked at her.

For a moment, he felt lust. Her breasts swelled against the outline of her tight shirt provacatively. Her sweat-streaked body, pale skin and mussed hair made her look so vulnerable, but he knew she was deadly as the tips of her knives. He yearned to touch her and almost did.

She saw him looking and responded with a slight frown. "So what was it?"

"What?"

"The thing shooting at us."

"I'm not sure. I thought it was a troll, like you suggested earlier, but…" Ezreal sighed. "They don't generally use bows and arrows. They prefer to club their prey. Which means they may have picked up the practice from another tribe or –"

"Someone taught them." Katarina coughed. "I'm leaning towards that."

"The trap, huh? You really think we're walking into one?"

Kat looked up at the trees. "Most likely. From what I've heard, Lissandra is cunning."

Ezreal's expression softened. "You are, too."

Katarina pointedly ignored him, instead leaning closer to the thing's corpse, lips and nose wrinkling as the thing's pungent odor struck her. A mixture of raw meat and swamp gas churned her stomach.

She stood up, wiping her blood-stained hands on her pants. One troll had required her to stab it, as it was too swift, even for her bouncing blades. "The group probably needs us and knowing what these things are probably won't help too much if Soraka's dead."

Ezreal nodded. With one more glance at Katarina's body, he stood up and headed to the group.

The chaos was only beginning to die down. Ryland sat with Soraka cradled in his arms. Two of the Freljord horses had bolted, along with Erinae's. Tryndamere and Varadi were dotted with tiny cuts where arrows grazed them. Ashe's horse was dead.

Ezreal felt nausea broil in his stomach. When he explored alone, he fixed his own problems. He repaired his own tents, soled his shoes, found enough food for himself. But some part of him ached to protect the group, to be their guardian.

"Start with one thing at a time," Kat said softly, beside him. "I'll go talk to the Freljordians. You talk to Soraka and Ryland."

Ezreal ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and approached Ryland and Soraka.

Ryland looked up. The irises of his eyes were glowing silver, soft beacons of light in the forest gloom. "I think the arrow was poisoned," he said abruptly.

Soraka's chest moved up and down rapidly. Her eyes were shut, but her pain was betrayed in her face.

"Can she hear you?" Ezreal said quietly. He sat down in front of them. "What do we do?"

"I'm trying to get her to a place where she can heal herself, but I'm not sure I can." The silver light slowly left his eyes, transferring to his hands. He rubbed them rhythmically over her shoulders. When Ezreal didn't say anything else, he began to chant.

Ezreal caught snatches of the Ionian healing song. He closed his eyes and instinctively put his hands on Ryland's knees. After a few moments, he felt portions of his energy flow out of his body. It felt like a river pouring into an ocean.

_Is Ryland converting it? Taking my Standard power and turning it into healing energy? _Ezreal felt a tinge of fear. Because Ryland was so nosy and overprotective, it was easy to forget that his friend was one of the most powerful sorcerers Ezreal had ever met. Perhaps ever would meet.

Ezreal could feel Ryland's mind merging with Soraka's, though he himself didn't feel anything. He was an outsider, a spectator.

It wasn't quite an Overflow, but it was very close. An influx of energy poured into Soraka's body even as his and Ryland's muscles began to screech in protest.

Then she went limp.

Ez's eyes snapped open, fearing the worst. But Soraka's chest now moved with a slow, steady motion. Ryland leaned over her, visibly shaken. Two tears fell on the fabric of the healer's travelling dress.

"What's wrong?" Ezreal asked. His throat was dry and itchy, his lips sticky with sweat. "She looks like she's going to be okay now."

Ryland swiped at his eyes. Being that close to Soraka, he'd finally felt what she felt.

_He's becoming so strong, so powerful. I'm fortunate enough that I got to witness his growing up. A teacher becoming attracted to a student is the worst kind of abuse. Besides, I'm not human. I told him to stay with Katarina. I've never felt such human urges before…I have no idea how to deal with them…I can solve every problem but my own. _

He'd felt her admiration growing into fondness, which led to attraction. Then her desperate attempts to deny or bury it. Ryland thought back to when he'd sacrificed himself for Ezreal. When Soraka had embraced him, hadn't he felt something?

Ezreal hesitated, then patted Ryland's head. The Empath was completely closed off from him, something that seemed to be happening more and more in recent weeks. "Hey, buddy. It's alright. Relax." Ezreal rearranged himself so Ryland could lean on his shoulder. He saw Jarvan shoot them a disparaging look and scowled.

_I guess he thinks compassion isn't manly_, Ezreal thought. _Well, too bad. The world needs healers and counselors just as much as it needs soldiers._

Ryland rubbed at his face. "I can't tell if these complications are from the Skelgarn or –"

"What complications? The arrows? Kat and I think they were set up."

"The emotional complications. Didn't Varadi say that people got wilder and wilder before they were fully corrupted? Or – or does it just uncover things that were already there?" He looked back down at Soraka, shivering as another thought of hers echoed in his mind.

_I can't sleep because I can't stop thinking of him. Taric and Sona both know something's happening, but are too polite to say anything. My healing arts are muted because my mind isn't in the right place…but he's such a good boy. Perhaps this is how he feels about Ezreal…ah, well. The stars reveal every path. Perhaps my attraction to him is part of my incomprehensible fate. _

Ryland doubled over, let out one harsh sob, then pressed his clenched fist to his mouth. The rest of the group looked over, more concerned now. Ez ignored them, instead focusing on calming Ryland down. "You can tell me. What's wrong?"

Ryland shook his head. The feeling was impossible to explain to Ezreal. Everyone always adored the Explorer. Ryland couldn't articulate the remorse he felt for putting Soraka in so much pain. She was one of three people who even came close to loving him.

_Every time I was near her I was hurting her_, he thought, shivering.

"I'm about to punch Jarvan in the face," Ezreal muttered. That brought Ryland around.

"What? Why?"

"I think he's making fun of you."

Ryland snorted and dried his tears on his arm. "If it makes him feel better, I don't care."

"He's almost soulless," Ezreal said, then sighed. "We might all be by the end of this."

Jarvan surveyed the blank faces around him. He felt annoyance stir within him and quickly quashed it. "Did anyone appoint a leader for this expedition? Is there any command structure?" He was greeted by silence.

"Very well. Does anyone object to my leading?"

The Freljordians collectively shrugged. Erinae stood, staring bleakly at the ground. Jarvan looked to Kat, expecting the fiery assassin to say something. All he got was an unimpressed raise of her eyebrows.

He itched to slap her – she always looked so insolent – but stopped himself. She'd probably been beaten enough by the Noxian army. Hell, she probably enjoyed it.

Now, that was an idea…

He saw the eyes of the travellers upon him and shook his head. "I believe the Skelgarn has already affected us to some degree. Do we have preventions?"

"The healers charged totems for us, Honorable Jarvan," Kat said. Jarvan blinked. She didn't sound sarcastic at all. With a little curtsy, she continued, "I'll fetch them. I advise you to wear them at all times."

"Thank you." Jarvan clenched his teeth. Katarina was very attractive – why had he not seen it before?

_ Because she's Noxian, you fool. _

He forced himself to stop watching her retreating form, from admiring her ass, and focused on other women. Shyvana's slim hips, Lux's warm smile…Aloud he said, "Redistribute the packs. We'll need multiple people to a horse now. We'll stop for the night."

"Lissandra is already many leagues away," Varadi said uncomfortably. "If we stop, we have no chance of overtaking her."

Jarvan considered this. "I don't think we'd catch her anyways. A few hours wouldn't make a difference."

"He's right." Tryndamere let his eyes roam over the carnage. "We wouldn't make it much farther today anyways."


	11. Kat and Ezreal in the Dark

Katarina and Ryland looked moodily into the fire. Dusk had fallen a few hours ago. After a quiet dinner around a central fire, the group had divided into tiny clusters of tents and personal fires.

Soraka stilled lay huddled in Ryland's lap. She hadn't moved or opened her eyes at all.

The forest around them was completely black, impenetrable even to Kat – and she had good night vision.

Katarina stirred. "The way you're obsessed with Ezreal is getting to me," she said quietly. Ryland took it in stride. It took a lot of trust for a Noxian to confess being troubled by attraction. Generally they didn't get attached, taking lovers of all kinds, instead.

Ryland took a deep breath. "What would you like me to do?"

"Give me permission to roam." Kat arched her back, cracking it. Ryland groaned inwardly. Not because of her insatiable sexual appetite – he'd known about that when they'd entered into their relationship.

"Just…don't make a mess of politics in this camp. I'd like for us to stay alive."

"What, no Tryndamere?" Katarina snickered. "He's not really my type."

"No Varadi or Ashe or Sejuani, either."

Kat looked over at him, eyes gleaming as the fire painted whispering shadows over her skin. He could tell their talk of limits and conquests was turning her on. Sometimes Ryland wondered if Noxians loved the emotional currents surrounding sex as much as the act itself.

He waited for his body to respond. It didn't. He was still too worried about Soraka.

It was healthiest for Kat to stray. She saw his lack of interest. It infuriated her – the worst sin in their relationship was not giving Kat attention in relation to sex.

"What about Ezreal?" Katarina laughed, revealing her large canine teeth. Ryland found himself wondering, not for the first time, if she had traces of vampress or succubus in her bloodline.

Then his overtired brain processed what she'd said.

"What? Kat, no. He has enough problems as it is. No."

"Why not?" she teased. "He's not politically affiliated, he's young, he's stupid – "

"He's not stupid."

Kat eyed him steadily. "You'll actually be jealous, won't you?"

Ryland's teeth clenched. "Kat, we don't talk about that –"

"Jealous for so many different reasons." She smirked. Ryland felt pain arise in his chest. All the usual light in her face was gone, replaced by the hard edge of cruelty.

_I can't be Noxian. I can't personally hurt people like this. _

"Kat –"

Her face froze. "You love him more than you love me. More than you'll ever love me. All I want is for you to look at me the same way you look at him. But you won't. And I'm fed up with it. It's my revenge."

"I thought Noxians weren't supposed to care!"

Katarina stood up, eyes sparkling with anger. And something else. Tears?

"Kat – are you sure it isn't just the Skelgarn? Do you have your totem on?"

She dug the small ivory rabbit from her pocket and showed it to him. "Yes."

Ryland closed his eyes. _I guess she really does feel like this…I hurt so many people unintentionally._

"I'll let you know how it goes," she whispered, then disappeared in the direction of Ez's tent, leaving Ryland alone with his unconscious mentor.

* * *

Ezreal stretched out on his coat, shirtless, with his hands behind his head. The upper part of the tent was transparent. He could've covered it up, but he'd left himself exposed. He peered through it, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars, but the sky was total darkness.

The only light came from his Voxstone lying against his breastbone, glowing a soft blue.

A rustle came from the mouth of his tent. He sat up, his hackles rising.

"Who's there?" he called.

"Shut up. It's me."

"Kat?"

"Shhhh." She fumbled with the flap of his tent, closed it, then crawled beside him. Her silky hair brushed his bare shoulder. Ezreal caught a whiff of cinnamon and cherry.

"What –"

"Shut _up_." She covered his mouth with her hand. "And don't move. No surprises. I'm serious."

He became very still. Kat could feel his heart pounding beneath her hand and restrained her urge to laugh. He could be brave on the battlefield, but on his home turf he was weak, submissive.

"I saw the way you looked at me earlier. Jarvan did it too." She shrugged out of her shirt, then her bra, her arms rustling against the walls of the tent. The Voxstone's light revealed her breasts, pert in the cool night air.

Ezreal shivered. He should have been aroused, but anger – even hatred – was roiling off of Kat.

It scared him.

"Take your pants off, pretty boy."

"I don't want to," he said softly. "Where's Ryland?"

"I don't want to hear anything about Ryland. I'm tired of you talking about him. Just like I'm tired of him talking about you. But this isn't about that."

The anger in her eyes said otherwise. _Oh, this is totally about that. Dammit, Ryland. What'd you do to her?_

"I can hear what you're thinking," she snapped. "But I won't have to deal with that much longer."

"Are you going to kill me?" Ezreal watched with wide blue eyes as she pulled her own pants off, leaving her in black silk panties. Even naked, she stilled looked deadly.

"No. I'm not suicidal. Even I wouldn't be able to stop hundreds of angry people. Take your pants off."

He shook his head, sitting up. "Lux and I are in a closed relation – "

His refusal made her even angrier. Before he knew it, she pushed him down, covering his mouth with hers, muffling his soft cry of indignation. She bit his bottom lip, then his neck, near his pulse. He felt her tongue brush the lobe of his ear and shuddered.

Holding his jaw, she turned his head and bit him right above his breast bone. He tried not to gasp in pain, but couldn't help it. The pain was sharp and deep.

When he struggled, her hand locked around both of his wrists and forced them above his head.

_She's done this before_, Ezreal thought dimly. _There's nothing I can do._

Her other hand worked its way beneath his waistband, stroking the beginnings of his erection.

"Are you done resisting?"

"No. I don't –" He gasped again as she gripped his shaft. "Please. Stop."

"No."

"Kat –"

"I said no."

Ez didn't reply, instead focusing on escaping her grasp, but he couldn't move. Kat's breasts brushed against his chest. She nuzzled his neck, still not easing up on his wrists or his dick.

"I forgot," she murmured. "You've only slept with Demacians. You haven't even had real sex."

She moved her hand over the length of his cock slowly, inexorably. His body seemed out of his conscious control, his world diminishing to sensations of pleasure. He moaned quietly.

Kat examined him, still jacking him off. The light from the Voxstone let her see the planes of his face, his cheekbones and strong jaw, his messy blonde hair, his taut stomach. And those huge blue eyes that seemed to be begging her.

Some of the anger had left her face, replaced by lust. "I guess I can see why Ryland likes you so much. You're so…pretty." She moved her hand from his wrists and tugged on his pants. "And you have a huge dick. Poor Lux."

Katarina's mouth closed on it, her tongue caressing its head. Ezreal cried out.

The assassin looked up, irritated. "You're too loud."

"I can't help it," he whispered.

She scrabbled around the tent, digging through his pack until she found a length of utility rope. She tied a huge knot, then stuck it in Ezreal's mouth.

"There. Fuck. Be quiet."

She returned to her business, gradually allowing more and more of Ezreal to fill her throat. Her breasts grazed his thighs.

Eventually she climbed on top of him, only to have him stiffen and try to push her away. He spat the rope out, coughing. "No. You can't. I won't let you."

"Oh, you're one of_ those_ guys." Kat rolled her eyes. "Oral doesn't count, right?"

"Kat, I'm serious. Don't do this." He tried to look threatening, but his youth made Katarina laugh. The knowledge that he was _actually_ begging her to stop - not just pretending - made this all the sweeter, and sent waves of lust and pleasure up her spine. Goosebumps stippled her pale, ivory skin.

She caressed the nape of his neck. "You do look serious, but I don't care."

He pulled away from her, blue eyes wide with fear, arousal and helpless anger. "Why are you hurting me?"

Smiling, she said, "Because you can't stop me."

"I'll – " Ezreal looked at his hand.

"Shoot me? Please. You'll be dead before you even finish forming the thought." Katarina trailed her fingers across his chest, then dragged her nails over his smooth skin.

Ezreal gasped.

"That's what I thought." She pushed him down, shoving the rope back into his mouth, then deftly tying his hands behind his back. She could barely hear anything.

"Don't moan too much. You'll choke before I'm finished." Smirking, she climbed back on top of him. "You must really not like being on bottom."

Ezreal closed his eyes as Katarina took her pleasure. She bit her lip to stifle her own moans as she used him, riding him, grinding against him. Whenever he came close to finishing, she stopped and teased him, nibbling on his neck, or running her fingers through his thick hair.

"Not yet."

When she was done, she sucked him off until he came, the orgasm making light burst behind his eyes. His skin tingled, and he almost choked on the rope knot.

Laughing to herself, she got dressed and untied him. Before he could say a word she was gone. Still coughing, he collapsed, his stomach and thigh muscles cramping. He felt used, dirty.

Body still rocked by spasms, he lay backwards. The roof of the tent was still blackness, but a light rain had begun to fall.

"Fuck."

* * *

Ryland remained cross-legged by the fire. He was distantly aware of rage building up inside of him, and he forced thoughts of it away. It was a distraction.

When he wasn't filled with rage, he felt rather at peace. His world had shrunk to the sensation of fire, the blackness of the sky, and the soft body of his teacher in his arms.

Gradually he became aware of Soraka's lips moving, and he bent down closer to hear her. Her lips brushed his ear.

"Leave me."

"I can't, Soraka. Not in the open."

She opened her eyes, looking up at him wistfully. "You've been a good pupil, Ryland, but only the stars can decide my fate."

He hesitated. "I can't abandon you."

"You won't. Your tent is nearby." She stroked the side of his face. She looked so tired, so weary.

_She's going to die and she doesn't want me to see_, Ryland thought.

Soraka shook her head. "I wouldn't do that to you, child. I need – to soak up the energy of the stars, and you're blocking it." She coughed. "You're so tall."

"Oh." Ryland put her gently on the ground. Relieved, Soraka stretched her limbs. "Rest well, Soraka."

"You too, Ryland."

"Get me if you need me."

Soraka smiled at him. In the light of the fire, her silvery hair looked like a fiery halo. "Your duty is done. For now."

With Soraka out of his arms, Ryland felt his fury swell again, a burning ache in the center of his chest. He crawled into the tent. Despite being a modern wonder of Piltover innovation, it barely fit his length – his legs cramped. He folded his arms and waited.

When Kat returned, he didn't have to ask. She reeked of sweat and sex. His jaw locked as she snuggled close to him. At her touch, images of Ezreal filled his mind – his fear mingled with pleasure, the pain of the ropes around his wrists. Kat's emotions assaulted him, too – anger that Ryland liked Ezreal, triumph when Ezreal finally submitted, pleasure when he struggled.

"Mmm. I fucked him good. He's probably crying."

"You hurt him," Ryland whispered. "Kat…"

"Sorry I'm not sorry."

She reclined her head on Ryland's chest and dozed off immediately. Ryland closed his eyes. He tried to ignore Katarina's experiences with Ezreal.

Had Ezreal…enjoyed it? The thought nagged at him. Ryland and Kat had had their fair share of kinky sex, but the idea of Ezreal liking it disturbed Ryland greatly.

_Kat was right. I am jealous. _

_And upset. _

Ryland wondered about his parents. Merilyn and Darius were so cruel – just as Katarina was – but he only wanted to save people, to heal them.


	12. Coping

_ N.B. Hello, readers! I just want to give a shoutout to all of you – you're fantastic! Thank you so much for following me as I write this. Your feedback is as awesome as you are._

* * *

It was 6AM, and Zandred was already highly pissed.

He brought his fist down on his desk. His coffee cup rattled. Jatt and Turley cowered backwards, trying to hide behind one another.

In light of Lissandra's escape, Zandred had requested they take a survey of all Champions. They'd just completed it. All the expected signatures were there, from Teemo's pawprint to Leona's flowing handwriting.

Except for one. Viktor.

"What do you mean he – he just left?"

"No one was summoning him so he just – I don't know – left." Jatt shrugged. "We all made fun of him because no one ever chose him."

Zandred rubbed at his tired eyes. "So you're telling that on top of a homicidal ice witch, two Overflowing young men and a blue-green barbarian, Viktor just left? Just sidled out the damn door? How could you miss him? He has a fucking arm coming out of his back, for fuck's sake."

Jatt and Turley leaned even farther away. Turley actually put his thumb in his mouth.

It was the first time they'd ever heard Zandred swear. With Erinae gone, his composure had cracked. Zandred hadn't realized how dependent he was on her quiet competence.

Turley scrubbed at his mouth, smearing the chocolate from his early morning muffin across his lips. "We're sure he's gone, too. We checked his room and it was entirely emptied out. Except for the furniture."

Zandred took a long, slow breath and sighed. "Well then…where did he go?"

"We - we don't know when he left," Jatt admitted, looking down at his feet. "He could've been gone for months."

Zandred sank down in his chair with a groan. Jatt and Turley waited nervously.

"You're dismissed."

After the two boys left, Zandred put his head on his desk, feeling utterly defeated.

* * *

Glowing dials. Billowing waves of steam. Machinery glistening red hot in the darkness. For a long time, Lissandra hadn't wanted to enlist the aid of man-made generators.

But the man she'd met – if he could really be called a man at all – had something very powerful: a grudge. He practically seethed with anger, his mind boiling over with plots of revenge like one of the machines he'd brought to life.

Jayce had destroyed one of his most precious possessions. For that, the Defender of Tomorrow had to be punished.

Now, Viktor's generators sent the seeds of corruption spiraling into the air. Six generators were scattered across the Freljord, working day and night to affect the world around them.

As brilliant as he was, Viktor had his limits. The past few times she'd spoken to him, he complained of needing a stronger power source. Apparently corrupting all of Runeterra required a lot of energy.

The power source was on his way. Following her. Lissandra smiled to herself. Opening her third eye, she searched for his unique energy signature, tasting it.

Yes, he was coming. Ezreal would soon be hers.

* * *

Since Jayce's tent was close to Ezreal's, he heard everything, from Ez's muffled pleas for mercy to Katarina's sinister laughter. The whole thing was thoroughly distracting. Instead of reading up on the Skelgarn, he spent the night contemplatively smoking a cigar and listening to Katarina assault the young Explorer.

At one point, Jayce considered helping him. With all that noise, she had to be hurting him.

But Jayce thought better of it. The last thing he wanted to do was startle a trained assassin – a horny trained assassin, at that. Not in the middle of some steamy roleplaying. He'd probably end up with a knife between the eyes.

It wouldn't have been as compelling if it had been a normal couple. He could fully understand Ashe and Tryndamere getting it on, or even Sejuani and Varadi (if he didn't mind the smell of boar).

But the fact that Kat would go for Ezreal, even after learning his girlfriend was pregnant? Damn, that was harsh. Callous. And arousing.

"I didn't sign up for this," he grumbled. "It reminds me of my apartment in Piltover's bad section. I swear there was an orgy in the room above mine every week."

He looked down at one point to notice he had a raging boner. Pouting, he snuffed his cigar and tried to sleep, to block out those little sighs of pleasure.

He couldn't.

"Why don't I ever get visits from Kat? Lucky kid."

When she finally let Ezreal finish, Jayce breathed a sigh of relief. _I'm going to tell her to use a better gag next time. That one didn't work. At all._

* * *

Ezreal awoke to pale morning light filtering through the trees. He was surprised to find his cheeks damp with tears and sweat.

The Voxstone on his chest was glowing more brightly than usual. It must have absorbed a lot of excess magical energy, probably caused by the stress of his dreams.

_What a weird dream…Kat had sex with me, then I got encased in ice, and Lux was calling for me._

He sat up, only to feel his thigh and abdomen muscles contract painfully. An icy pain shot through his legs, causing his calves to spasm. He bit his knuckle to keep from crying out.

_That wasn't a dream? _

Wincing, he gently pressed his fingers to the bruises on his throat and chest. The one close to his pulse was especially deep. He massaged it, and cringed as the whole night came flooding back to him.

While exploring, he tended to get bruises and scrapes, but they were all his own doing. With Lux, he escaped their sexual encounters unscathed.

No one had held him down and caused him such pain before. Tied him up and…

A wave of nausea and shame swept over him.

_No, there's more important things to think of now. I thought Kat would've known that, with her military training. I guess the Noxian military's a little…different. _

_ If it keeps her focused, it was worth it. _

He waited for his muscles to stop their painful song, ignoring the tiny tears at the corner of his eyes.

…_why me, though? I thought we were friends. Is this what friends do to each other?_

He carefully sat up, pressing his hands to his lower stomach. Digging through his pack, he pulled out a small mirror. It was purely for practical purposes – having a mirror helped one stitch their own wounds on parts of their body they couldn't see.

Huge scarlet bruises covered his throat and chest, accenting his red triangular scars. His neck was a symphony of purple, blue and black. Even his ribs hadn't been spared.

His lips started quivering._ I bet Jarvan never gets tied up. Lux is going to kill me._

He shook his head to clear it. The fastest way to get over something was to take action. He washed his wounds with water from his canteen, pulled on a white shirt, and chewed some of the arlan tree bark to clean his teeth.

Then he used the mirror to practice his smile as he combed his hair. The violet edge of one of the marks peered over the collar of his shirt. He ignored it.

He saw Soraka doing physical meditations near his tent. As he watched, she lifted one knee and grasped her ankle, pulling it skyward.

She had a strange beauty against the low hanging, bluish mist.

"Good morning, Ezreal."

"Morning." He swallowed hard. His throat was swollen and sore, inside and out. "It's nice to see you looking so much better."

"Mm. Ryland's healing skills are beginning to rival mine." She smiled. "I just hope we don't have to test them anymore."

"That'd be nice."

"Morning, Piltover's finest." Jayce held a large mug of coffee in his oversized paw. He clapped Ezreal on the shoulder, right on a bruise. Ez tried not to flinch. "Seems you had an interesting night last night."

"What – what are you talking about?" Jayce was surprised to see Ezreal flush a brilliant scarlet and bow his head. His smile wavered.

Jayce stared. _Oh. It was an actual assault. I just thought he was into the kinky roleplaying thing. Gods above._

"Oh. Um. Hmmm." Jayce waited a beat. He had no idea what to say. "Want some breakfast?"

* * *

After a hearty meal, the company packed their things and set out. It turned out that everything still fit on their remaining horses.

"So, how far do you think we'll get today?" Jayce asked Jarvan as they walked through the forest. He wanted to get Ezreal out of his mind – those sounds of pain meant something totally different, now.

He sipped his coffee and waited for Jarvan's response.

"We should make it out of the forest. It depends on what path the barbarian is taking us on. Traditionally, you head a little west, cross the Serpentine River, go North to Kaladown, then cross again to the Freljord. The travelling's faster that way." Jarvan sighed. "The way we're going now, we'll have to exit the forest, trudge through the Howling Marsh, and skirt the Ironspike Mountains."

"Sounds…nasty. The Howling Marsh?"

"Aye. There are Demacian stories of that place. None of them pretty. But we'll be more prepared this time."

"Hopefully. It's weird that Soraka and that other kid didn't sense the goblins."

"The abilities of psychics are multiplicative. I think that's why we brought two." Jarvan took a long drink of his own coffee. Unlike Jayce's, it was fully black, not flavored at all.

"Didn't know that. I specialize in how magic interacts with machines. Ezreal's the one that knows all about psychics and artifacts." Jayce adjusted the collar of his green shirt. Even in the forest, he still looked fabulous.

"So, he's more of a historian?" Jarvan asked. "I know he's popular, but I didn't care for his works."

"Yep. The kid's kinda strange, for a Piltover. We're opposites. I'm interested in the future, but he wants to dig through the past."

Ezreal didn't hear their exchange. He noticed Katarina edging closer and closer to him. Each time she did, he moved a little farther away, until he and his horse were almost off the narrow path.

"What's wrong with him?" Katarina looked at Ryland with wide, innocent eyes. "I just wanna chat."

Beneath her exterior, Ryland sensed a mounting manic energy, not unlike Ezreal's Overflow. Luckily she didn't have powers that could blow them to the moon.

"Not everyone is Noxian." Ryland shrugged. "Different cultural codes. You definitely broke some of his."

"Where I'm from, everyone just stays friends or enemies," she huffed. "I don't see what the big deal is."

"Well," Ryland said quietly, "he's kind of upset that you raped him."

"I thought he was having fun."

"Probably not."

Katarina scowled. "If you know so much, why don't you go talk to him?"

"I think you should do it. I can lead your horse."

"Fine." She shoved the reins into Ryland's hand and trotted over to the quiet Explorer.

Ryland turned to Soraka, who'd been following them out of eavesdropping range.

She had tied the skirt of her sky-blue travelling dress to knee height, making it easier to run if she had to. Her silver hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her two totems – a deer and a praying mantis – dangled from a chain around her delicate neck.

It was hard to imagine that such a frail being contained the power of a thousand blazing stars.

He'd experienced her attraction to him, but in the interest of stability, they were both ignoring it for now. It was still rather easy to treat her like a teacher.

"Soraka, don't you feel a little strange leading a horse? What with the hooves and all?"

She chuckled. "I feel no kinship with them. It's just the mortal form I was chosen to take. Interesting question, though." Falling in to step beside him, she added, "Katarina seems to be struggling with the Skelgarn already."

"I think it's just Kat as a person. She had her totem with her the whole time."

"Some people don't respond as strongly to them as others," she reminded him gently. "Some people don't respond to them at all. How have you been feeling?"

_Between Kat's urges, Soraka's affection, and Ezreal's distress_? "Stressed. Very stressed."

"You must try to free yourself from those feelings," she chided. "If you become overwhelmed by negative emotions, your powers will be useless. I know it's difficult as an Empath."

"Very."

Soraka waited. "May I ask what happened between Katarina and Ezreal last night?"

"May I ask why you're asking?"

"Of course. People in the throes of negative emotions are much more likely to become corrupted. More susceptible to any kind of dark energy, really." Soraka looked up to watch a small flock of crows pass. "That's why people invested in the dark arts rely on so much negativity. They need hatred and cruelty to fuel them."

Ryland winced. That description matched Katarina a little too well. "Hatred, cruelty and passion? Does that mean that the Noxians are inherently…evil?"

"No, the Noxians balance their negative emotions with pleasure and love. I'm mostly concerned because Katarina's actions put very powerful people on tilt. If she makes Ezreal unstable –"

"Oh, gods." Ryland closed his eyes. "She just – she doesn't understand him."

"Few people do. I don't claim to understand him, either. A person becomes strange, wondering around the wilderness alone for that long." Soraka chewed a piece of arlan bark contemplatively. "Ryland, how unstable is he?"

Ryland looked at her in surprise. His teacher rarely asked for his judgment on things. "In what terms?"

Soraka waved her hand. "Emotionally, magically. The whole thing."

"Emotionally, he's unpredictable. He's moody, but he doesn't get depressed. He gets angry or violently sad. Magically, well…"

"Ah, yes. The Overflow." Soraka sighed. "So, what happened to him last night?"

"Kat made some, ah, unwanted advances." That was the politest way Ryland could describe Katarina's sexual assault to his gentle teacher.

"Will it cause him stress?"

"Yes."

"We might need more totems. The Voxstone seems to be helping him more, partly because he's fond of it." Her eyes lingered on Ryland for a moment too long. She looked away with a slight blush. "We're also waiting on Jayce to do more research."

Ryland's horse nudged his shoulder, whickering softly in his ear. He soothed it, stroking its jaw. "Soraka, do you think the Skelgarn just uncovers hidden emotions that were already there?"

"That's a difficult question. When are emotions really 'there'? When you realize they are?"

Ryland sighed. He knew that when Soraka answered his questions with questions, it would be impossible to get anything out of her. The two of them walked on in silence.

* * *

Ezreal tried hard to focus on the beauty of the forest before him. A lazy, winding river wound its way next to the path they were following. Schools of minnows flitted backwards and forwards, flashing in the sun. The trees had opened a little, allowing light to fall on him. He tilted his face upwards, drinking in the warmth.

Beside him, his horse huffed quietly . It yearned to break free.

He contemplated leaving the group, the Institute. Now that the gem on his gauntlet was gone, nothing tied him there…he could head south towards Shurimana instead, where the days seemed to last for years.

Katarina's light touch startled him so much that he flinched backwards like a spooked colt.

She looked so different in the daylight. The sun poured light into her fiery hair, illuminating her wide, innocent green eyes.

Then he walked into a branch, striking one of his bruises. He couldn't suppress his gasp of pain.

"Damn, I really did fuck you up." She twirled a lock of hair around her finger mischievously, watching him for the next sign of pain. His suffering was obviously filling her with glee.

Ezreal opened his mouth, but words refused to come out. Katarina waited patiently for his response, eyebrows politely raised.

He said the first thing that came to his mind. "Why are you talking to me?"

"Am I not allowed to do that, either? You have a very long list of limits, then." She examined him from head to toe, noting the bruises on his neck like a painter admiring her handiwork.

_Please. Please don't hurt me_, he thought but didn't say. He didn't want to provoke her. She seemed to live for begging.

"You look terrified," she commented. "Are you really that scared? I thought guys liked sex."

"Leave me alone," he whispered. Now he saw that the glitter in her eyes wasn't natural. Her cheeks too flushed and rosy. The Voxstone began to quake slightly, warming his chest. Gold sparks danced through his scars, his bruises, his cuts.

For a moment, their eyes locked.

_Don't say it. Don't say it. _

He felt her presence pulling on his, enticing him.

His voice was soft and husky when he said, "Please? For me?"

He saw the dilation of her pupils, the slight flaring of her nostrils. Whatever monster was inside her, he'd called it to him. Half-smiling, she said, "Well, since you asked."

* * *

Graves cracked an eye open. Someone on the other side of his door hesitated, then knocked again. There was a brief scuffle before someone banged their fists against it.

"I'm awake!" he hollered. "Stop your bangin'!" He strode over and flung the door open, revealing Caitlyn and Miss Fortune. As one, their eyes took in his shirtless torso. Miss Fortune covered her mouth.

"My eyes are up here, ladies."

"Right. Sorry." Miss Fortune glanced at Caitlyn.

"Let's cut straight to the case, Sarah." Caitlyn nodded. "Go ahead and tell him."

"We're sending another contingent of Champions North."

"Who is 'we'?" Graves grunted.

"The Carries and Vi."

"I figure Vi'd follow Caitlyn wherever she went. She's basically attached to her ass."

Malcolm rubbed his tired eyes. The weather – the coming autumn – brought back searing memories of his wife Melena. If she were alive, she'd be wearing that dark-green dress and starting to bake pumpkin pies, knitting socks and lighting cinnamon candles. He hadn't slept for thoughts of her. The life they'd had…

And now, these two women were waking him up at an unreasonable hour. He had cause to be grumpy.

"We're leaving in three hours, before Zandred finds out," Caitlyn whispered. "Are you coming?"

Graves thought for a second. "Hell, the matches are cancelled anyways. Let's go."


	13. The First Fall

_N.B. Hello, dear readers. I apologize for the rather long updates, but I hope you're enjoying them as much as I'm enjoying writing them._

* * *

The contingent broke out of the forest and into another rolling plain of waving, sweet-smelling grass just as the sun began to descend towards the horizon. Eager to leave the woods behind, everyone seemed cheerful as they broke pitched tents and built a giant bonfire.

The smoky smell settled into the air as they cooked spits of meat, and the barbarians broke into a war song, recounting their feats in battle.

Tryndamere's voice, while gravelly, was surprisingly tuneful. Erinae blushed and shook her head when Varadi gestured for her to sing.

In Demacia, it was custom instead to sing of failures in battle. Ryland recounted his fight with Zed:

_"The master of shadows_

_Threatened all I held dear_

_And with my quick senses_

_I blocked his blades._

_But none were prepared_

_To counter his strikes -_

_None were prepared_

_For his multiple shades."_

Jarvan waited for the song to pass to him, then added a verse in Demacian dialect:

_"The dragon's den was stony and sere_

_Awash with dark gray flame_

_And though unafraid I came_

_I left that cave and ran in fear."_

The barbarians glanced at each other. The Demacian prince rarely admitted any weakness, especially not in public. Jarvan's smile was small and wistful as he recounted the tale of the dragon chasing him away.

Despite the gaiety, Ezreal felt his stomach drop lower and lower with each hour that passed. He knew darkness was coming – that it would fall over the earth like a cresting tide, leaving the moon and stars scattered across the sky in its wake like shells on a shore.

The knowledge didn't stop the sensation of terror from creeping into his skin.

Every time he caught sight of Kat, he got more and more nervous. His sweaty hands kneaded his clothes. He shivered if she got too close.

_Lux will probably forgive one time, but two? She'll wonder why I didn't prevent it. _

He stared blankly at the sky, watching the colors shift from molten red, to topaz, to a silky gray.

Rain was rolling in. He could feel it in the electric prickles running across his skin.

_Is it my fault?_

He didn't know if he meant the abuse or the coming storm. It could be either.

He thought he may be releasing Pulsefire energy into the air. Maybe the storm was feeding off of him, gathering his power into the dusky folds of its clouds.

After all, certain Pulsefire sorcerers had been banned from Runeterra for spawning tornadoes and hurricanes.

As for the abuse…

_If only I looked more manly and not so weak. No one would molest me if I looked like Graves. Or Jarvan. _

The first frigid drops of rain brushed his face. He set up his tent with numb hands, still unsure of what to do. He couldn't very well tell someone he thought Kat was crazy – not when he was always on the verge of Overflow himself.

No, there was nothing to do but wait.

While the cheerful members of their merry band said their goodnights to one another, Ezreal crawled into his tent, still fully clothed. He covered up the transparent roof – the huge, black dome of the sky made him feel helpless and exposed.

After a few moments, he noticed his fingernails glowing the same cool blue as the Voxstone, their light as dim and secretive as will o' the wisps. His breath caught.

The stone had absorbed as much energy as it could hold.

_Pulsefire_, he thought. _What would that Overflow even do? I don't want to find out. _

He pulled the plates and cables of his Overflow suit from his pack, but hesitated, holding the breastplate in his hand. If he had a nocturnal visitor, the suit would be just as effective as ropes or cables. He'd be tied down by his own will.

_She has me trapped. If I wear the suit, I'll be totally helpless when she shows up. If I don't wear it, I might Overflow and kill us all. I have to let the Voxstone release some of its pent up energy…_

A low roll of thunder rumbled across the night sky, like the snore of a vast, ancient sea-dragon. He clutched anxiously at the Voxstone and snatched his fingers back with a hiss of pain. The stone was burning hot.

_I have to take it off. If this one explodes, the shards are going straight through my heart._

Moving carefully, he plucked the pendant from his neck and picked it up with the very tips of his fingertips. As he did, the rain sped up, coursing over the fragile tent like a waterfall.

He recalled a reading from one of his textbooks: "The instant an artifact breaks contact with its user, it dispels its charges freely into the air."

He eyed the gem, glittering cheerfully on the floor of the tent. _I shouldn't have worn it for so long. It's so overcharged that it's dangerous now. No wonder Ryland and Soraka think I need babysat. I keep doing stupid stuff like creating weapons. _

His thoughts were interrupted by lance of lightning, followed by a whip-crack of thunder. In the tiny tent, the sound was almost deafening.

His hearing grew more sensitive as the lips of his tent rustled, then opened. Ezreal backed away slowly.

Katarina's hair was soaked against the sides of her throat. Her wet black t-shirt clung to her breasts and belly. Ezreal shivered when she looked at him, tracing his body with her eyes.

"Geez. It's a freakin' monsoon out there."

"Yeah…I guess it is." His eyes never left her as she wrung her hair out onto one of his towels. Her gaze fell idly on the Voxstone.

"That's pretty nifty. Kinda like a solar-charged nightlight."

Goosebumps rippled across his skin. _Can't let her get to that._

He took a shuddering breath. "What do you need, Kat?"

"You, of course." She sat down, gripped her knees and sighed. For a moment, her innocent posture almost fooled Ez. He shook himself to remain alert. Katarina tilted her head. "Ryland seems to think you didn't enjoy yourself last night."

Ezreal's thoughts fluttered in a panic. "He'd – he'd be correct."

"That's a shame," she murmured, edging closer to him. "I could make it better. We could try again."

For Ezreal, team seemed to slow as he gazed into her emerald eyes. Sometimes time did this while he was on the Rift, under a lot of stress. His small, latent Empath powers told him that Katarina was, if not possessed, in an altered state of mind. The other parts of his brain were cycling through everything he'd ever read about female temptresses until he hit on a relevant fact – struggling did no good. It was best to give in, then act.

_I have to make this believable. It feels like I'm having a heart attack._

Ignoring the tides of energy rising in his body, Ezreal focused on the present.

"Actually, I don't think I'd mind that at all."

He placed his hand on the back of Kat's neck, letting his fingers lightly brush her pulse points, then leaned in. His lips were hesitant, trembling against hers. Then he let the kiss grow slower, deeper. The scent of cinnamon almost overwhelmed him.

He let his hands drift to her breasts, which were still wet with rain. She hadn't even worn a bra. Lifting up the drenched fabric of her shirt, he bent down to them, nuzzling them, gently pinching her nipples.

Lux always liked that. Kat seemed to, too. She arched her back.

His tongue moved delicately across her breasts, nipping the center of them. Sighing with pleasure, she buried her cold fingers in his blond hair.

He flinched as her hands roved over the bruises she'd left the night before. She seemed to be doing it on purpose. Eventually the pain blended into his sweet arousal, like swirls of dark chocolate against white.

She kissed him, cuddling up to his chest for warmth. The feel of her bare skin against his clothed body sent a slow wave of desire pulsing through Ezreal. She was the vulnerable one this time, his for the conquering.

He was so involved that he almost missed the tiny _click_ accompanying the blade at his throat. "Poor child. I know you're feigning. Well, I can put you out of your suffering."

His heart dropped.

Ezreal struggled, but her grasp on the back of his neck was strong. She held him against the tip – it was rapidly sinking into his flesh, a white-hot pain.

The world seemed to become sharp and brilliantly lit. Ezreal recognized it as a stroke of lightning even as he threw himself backwards, aiming his boots squarely at the center of Kat's chest. She flew into the roof of the tent. The tiny structure was rapidly tipping in her direction. Ezreal would be on top of her in a moment.

He felt around for the Voxstone and put it around his neck. It was a living ember, a fiery coal against his chest.

Kat somehow recovered her footing and leapt to him, pinning him beneath her, the dagger pointed at his heart. He grabbed her wrists and struggled to break them. Thunder engulfed them in an ocean of sound.

He couldn't bend her wrists – he was a historian, not an assassin. She had too much training.

As the blade sank closer and closer, the familiar, dizzying feeling of Overflow washed over Ezreal.

The edges of his vision began to flicker with sparkles of gold. His heart slammed against the wall of his chest as his senses heightened. He felt like he could see everything for miles, hear the rustle of crickets miles away.

The sweat froze on his skin, even as time itself came to a halt. He had time to think whatever he wanted. The next white-hot flash of lightning revealed Kat's snarl and the fact that her eyes were entirely black.

_I guess I'll die, even if she doesn't kill me_, he thought.

_Damn._

The tent soundlessly exploded in a golden supernova of light, thousands of times brighter than a stroke of lightning, sending a brilliant shockwave across the camp and through the plains for a mile. Lightning danced through the air more frequently, as if trying to compete with the spectacle on land.

Everyone snapped awake immediately. Ryland shielded his eyes, felt for Katarina on her side of the blanket, and swore loudly when she wasn't there. The barbarians and Jarvan reached sleepily for their weapons. Jayce awoke with a ragged gasp.

Kat was a tiny shadow hurled twenty feet into the air. She let herself go limp, then snapped into a roll when she hit the ground.

Ezreal's tent was blazing in defiance of the cascading rain. In place of red, the flames were a burnished yellow, filled with whirling sparks.

Kat saw him walk out of the destruction.

The Explorer was lit up like a galaxy, his body wreathed in a golden wildfire, accented by the crystal on his chest. Even through the aura, she could see his body - the triangular scars, the white shirt clinging closely to his muscles. The rain wasn't touching him, instead evaporating the instant it touched the Standard energy.

Hate burned her. Hate for his perfection.

His Voxstone-blue eyes were dazed. He obviously couldn't take control of the magic pulsing through him. Even with that power, he was helpless.

She threw herself at him with a shout, knocking him to his knees, shoving the blade against his throat. His aura didn't burn her, but set her body tingling. The fire lapped painlessly against her skin.

The light from his body revealed the rest of the camp standing around them in shock.

She panted, cornered. At least the boy had quit struggling.

"Don't move!" she shouted. The wind snatched her words from her mouth. They heard them nonetheless, only standing there, completely at a loss.

Kat and Ezreal made an otherworldly picture against the bellowing heart of the storm. His aura was engulfing her. They were two shadows standing at the center of an interstellar furnace. Now his energy was beginning to burn her skin.

She had to act quickly. "Farewell, Aven Lightbringer. I knew thee well, but your time is gone."

These words, where were they coming from? No matter. She moved the blade in preparation for the killing strike. Simultaneously, Ezreal wrenched her wrist to fling her forwards. The blade sliced across his chest from shoulder to hip, paring him almost to the bone, sending a flare of pain across his senses. Blood began to pour from him, mixing with the rain.

The last thing he saw was a mixture of blood and rainwater dancing with tiny gold and blue spheres. Then his consciousness disappeared into a whirl of light.

* * *

Ryland was torn. _Ezreal and Kat are both wounded. Who do I go to first?_

He was paralyzed with indecision. Then the rain grew colder and turned to piercing needles of ice. Coughing, he jogged to Kat.

Soraka followed him. She threw herself on top of Kat to suppress her. Ryland fell to his knees, ignoring the rainwater soaking through his pants and beating his bare torso.

Katarina fought their grasps with wild ferocity, squirming and biting. She peeled an inch of skin off of Ryland's knuckle. Frenzied by the taste of blood, she loosed a shriek that clearly wasn't human.

"Hold her down!" Soraka shouted. Thunder roared in reply.

Ryland bent both of Katarina's wrists and fell upon her, suppressing her body with his. He felt the wriggling darkness inside of her – her mind was a mess of corpseworms, or the sound of a thousand Piltover radio channels playing all at once. He gritted his teeth against the terrible sensation.

Beside him, Soraka intoned a long series of words in an unknown language. Kat's movement slowed, then stopped.

Jayce ran to them, carrying a mobile light and coughing heavily. "Here! Can you see?"

Ryland squinted. Dark fragments of matter were flaking off of Katarina. They left no mark – her skin was still the portrait of ivory cream, if a bit pale from the cold and rain.

Soraka smeared her wet hair away from her face, trying to clear her gaze. "That's the first time I've had to use an exorcising incantation in ten years."

Ryland wanted to thank her, but was distracted by Jarvan pointing a sword at Katarina's chest. "Soon she won't be a problem!"

Jarvan's bare chest was marked and crosshatched with dark scars, even as his muscles flowed smoothly over his ribs. A crazy light was gleaming in his blue-gray eyes.

Ryland shoved Jarvan aside. "You can't do that! That's my girlfriend!"

Jarvan snarled, lowering the sword to Ryland's belly and jabbing him with it. "Your_ girlfriend_ just tried to kill Piltover's Grandmaster Explorer."

"Oh, now you care about Ezreal. I see how it is. You fucking coward." Ryland spat and flung the edge of the sword away. "All Demacians –"

Soraka cut him off with a sharp gesture. Ryland was surprised to see so much anger in that gentle face. "I'll remind you, my lord, that killing a Noxian outside of the battlefield is a war crime punishable by execution."

Jarvan waited a beat. Sensitive now to the slightest shift of emotion, Ryland felt the struggle within the prince – the hatred for Noxians, the embarrassment at being usurped, anger at himself for being so rash, and something else. Ryland's eyes widened. _Fear?_

_I guess Jarvan's not used to dealing with psychotic people and Overflowing Explorers on a daily basis. Not so brave compared to a healer now, is he? _

Jaw clenched, Jarvan withdrew his sword. "I was just trying to act in the best interest of our party."

Soraka, Ryland and Jarvan stood silently for a tense moment. The strength of the wind was ebbing away, lowering it from a howl to a quiet moan. The rain lessened from a waterfall to a slight drizzle.

"Did anyone check on Ezreal?" Soraka asked suddenly. "I honestly thought you were going, Ryland. That's why I came to Kat."

Ryland tore his gaze from Katarina's slumbering body. The Freljordians and Erinae were standing around in their pajamas. Varadi looked just as confused by Jarvan's actions as the giant storm.

Panicking, he ran over to Ezreal. The blaze in Ezreal's tent, like the rain, was dying down.

Ryland fumbled for the Explorer's pulse points, then tore the remains of Ezreal's white shirt from his chest. The Voxstone was quaking with stored energy.

And beginning to sear Ezreal's flesh. Ryland gritted his teeth and lifted it with his bear fingers, unable to suppress his groan of pain.

He was relieved to see the stone stop shaking, but the storm began to pick up again.

Jayce jogged to the center of the group, juggling a large mechanical box from hand to hand. After lining it up with some hidden factor in the sky, he slapped it. A clear dome appeared overhead, gradually spreading out to envelope the entire group, shielding them from the gushing rain. Their tents except for Ezreal's were inside of it.

"Huh," Jayce said to himself. "I always knew it would pay off to have friends in the Recreational Development Center. They come up with the neatest toys. I'll have to tell Jimmy Eckels that its field test was successful.

Varadi gaped at the dome, slack-jawed. "What sorcery do we have now, my king? First the light, and now this – this –"

"Invisaplasta Dome," Jayce finished. "It's a working title, but that should give you an idea. We're thinking of calling it Rain-B-Gon."

Tryndamere shrugged. "Some fancy shield. Think of it like a tent, brother."

Varadi nodded, mouth still wide. "I swear, every day I see new wonders travelling in your company."

Tryndamere chuckled. "There will be wonders yet."

Ryland scarcely noted the shield, instead caught up in examining Ezreal's body.

_Oh, he looks bad this time. Why did you hurt yourself, Ez? _

Kat's dagger had torn his skin, splitting it almost to his bones. His chest was painted a grisly red where the Voxstone burned him. The last scraps of his aura flickered and evaporated into the air.

Ryland bit down hard on his panic. Basic, physical first-aid was the first part of his training under Soraka.

_If she can remember an exorcising spell in the middle of a thunderstorm, I can remember this. _

"Stabilize the pulse first," he muttered to himself. Ezreal's heart beat was strong and steady, if a bit slow.

"Clear obstructions. Listen to breathing."

He pressed an ear to the Explorer's chest. Blood dappled Ryland's cheek, but he ignored it. Ezreal's breaths rattled slowly through his lungs. Something had to be done.

Ryland hesitated. _He's going to be so angry at me. But I have to do it._

He pressed his lips against Ezreal's and began the breathe-free routine Soraka had taught him. It would clear obstructions in his chest and throat.

As he did the rhythmic exercises, his mind drifted back to his and Ezreal's first days together.

_ "I can carry you," Ryland said, only he was called Michael back then. And he was so excited that he and his idol were together at last. "You're hurt." _

"_Really?" Ezreal shook his head. "If Ashe can walk back, so can I."_

_ "Ashe also didn't play in all twenty matches today. Come here. I'll help you."_

_ Ez stared at Michael's outstretched hand suspiciously, then shook his head. "I can get there. I don't need you to carry me."_

In the present, Ryland sighed internally. _Well, Ezreal, you were wrong._

When Ezreal took a deep breath without him, Ryland removed his lips and murmured the next part of the routine to himself. "Clean any wounds."

"Ryland, I've got it." Erinae stood behind him, nibbling her knuckles. "Kat's asking for you. Go."

* * *

Kat opened her eyes and immediately closed them again. Everything felt ok, except that she couldn't remember what had happened or how she'd gotten into this position.

Oh well. Wouldn't be the first time.

The very last thing she remembered was hunting those goblin creeps with Ezreal, thinking about what a fine Noxian knight he'd be, then - nothing. A long, long stretch of nothing.

She cautiously opened one eye again. She heard a storm, people running around and shouting.

_Nope. I have no idea. _

Soraka leaned over her. Her wet silver hair brushed Kat's nose. She sneezed.

"Kat? How do you feel?"

"Confused. Where's Ryland?"

Soraka spoke to her little blonde helper – Katarina couldn't quite recall her name.

"Do you remember anything? Anything at all?" Soraka looked very interested in her answer. It made Kat begin to think that the cause of the chaos might very well be her.

She sat up and clutched at her stomach as the world around her revolved drunkenly. "I don't remember shit."

"Well, then. You were corrupted."

"What? Me? How?"

"Not sure how. I just know that you were." Soraka smiled wistfully. The best healers could smile in any situation. "You tried to kill Ezreal."

"Oh." Kat looked around. The entire group was soaked and downtrodden, and every single horse was missing. Sejuani leaned on Varadi, eyes closed. Ashe and Tryndamere had sat down and were pressed against one another, huddling against the cold. Jarvan was staring moodily into the night, and Jayce was talking on some improvisatory phone, babbling about how well "Rain-B-Gon" worked.

_What the fuck happened_?

"So…how did that go?"

Soraka laughed liltingly, as if they were sharing tea in the Supports Quarters instead of sitting in a foot of icy rain water. The healer flicked filaments of hair from her shoulders with numb fingers. "Not so well."

"I really thought I wouldn't be the first one to get corrupted."

"Well, you were wrong."


	14. Changing Plans

The Ice Witch waited patiently in the atrium of Generator IV. She'd been waiting for centuries, so she had a lot of practice.

The smell of burnt rubber and grease wafted on the chilly air around her, accented with a note of burning metal. One of Viktor's automatons approached her and, after bowing courteously on fluid joints, opened the door to Viktor's inner sanctum.

A few swinging lights gave the only patchy, unsteady illumination. Viktor could see as well by dark or light, and thus hadn't given much thought to the lighting systems.

Before her stood arrays of all sorts of machines – spindly ones with long, crooked legs; spiderlike drones, their feet bristling with needles.

There were even four mechanical horses standing on a slightly raised dais. Lissandra sensed a faint feeling of pride around these creations. She could understand – their polished black metal and manes made of spikes would inspire terror in anyone sensible.

And though she did not feel fear, Lissandra could appreciate the eerie quality of the ranks of silent machines. At any moment they could spring to life, and they'd advance endlessly, crushing anything beneath their metal feet to a bloody mass.

The inventor himself was busy at a small table in the corner of the garage. Lissandra noted his small size compared to the strength of his machines, and reflected on how powerful a grudge truly was.

He looked to her even as his autonomous arm continued screwing the parts of another machine together. "My lady."

"Viktor. I am…very impressed. One almost thinks I have no need of my own troops. The trolls appear so messy compared to your forces."

"Battle calls for both blood and steel. Anything to take the boy alive." His arm gestured to the center of his lab. After her sight adjusted slightly, Lissandra sensed a platform with cuffs for hands and feet. Suspended over it was a mess of tubing whose purpose one could only guess.

"Oh my. I hadn't realized how brutal the mechanical world is."

"It is difficult to harness energy from since an imperfect source." The last two words had a slightly different inflection. Whether it denoted irritation or hatred, Lissandra could not tell.

He turned his attention back to the table before him.

Lissndra waited a beat. "Why is it that we cannot harness the other boy? His powers are also immense, as I'm sure you've learned from the League."

Still working, Viktor said, "One operates in Standard Alpha. Direct destruction. Golden power. He's much easier to harness because his power can only harm and destroy. The other boy's powers don't destroy or create." Viktor paused to move another piece of jointed metal closer to the machine's body. "He can only sense the world around him. Take measurements of the levels of chemicals in others' bodies."

"So, Ryland's Empath powers are of no use."

"Correct," Viktor said. "Is there any other knowledge you require, my lady? I will assist you in understanding, but…"

"Yes?"

"Time grows short."

Lissandra smiled in the darkness. "No, no. You may continue."

* * *

It seemed she'd been staring at the ceiling for days straight. Since all the Rift matches were cancelled, the Champions roamed the Institute freely, carousing and relaxing with the Summoners.

The Supports had started a chorus, something they had wanted to do for a while. They tried their hand at everything, from Noxian operas to Demacian hymns. Lux reflected that the music would sound better if Ryland could accompany Sona's Etwahl with his clarinet, and if Soraka were there to lend her voice to the soprano notes.

Still, their music was high and sweet, wafting on the autumn breeze into Lux's room.

She was listening to the Demacian Hymn of peace, and almost didn't hear Taric entering her door.

"I come bearing soup."

She sat up, trying to force a smile. Taric set the rich vegetable broth and crusty bread on a night table, then perched beside of Lux.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

Taric nodded sagely, and Lux felt a small blossom of affection for the Gem Knight. After Soraka departed, he took it upon himself to wait on her, bringing food and books and exotically-scented candles. Though reserved, he had an offbeat sense of humor that Lux appreciated.

But Taric was looking unusually worried today. Even though she wasn't hungry, Lux took a tiny bite of the bread.

"What's wrong, Taric?"

"It's unfortunate that Soraka isn't here to counsel you today." He inclined his head to catch the last few words of the Demacian Peace Hymn:

"And peace, lift your silken banner

High to the skies –

Lift your banner, lift your banner

Towards the angels on high."

Taric sighed. "Lovely, isn't it? Especially for a native Demacian?"

"Yes," Lux said cautiously. "Taric, I'm sure your counsel is just as sound as Soraka's."

"I hope so." He looked to her. "We're nearing the day when you must make a decision regarding the status of your unborn child. Your pregnancy."

"Oh," she said softly. At times, it was almost easy to forget the life growing inside of her, becoming larger with each passing moment. If only Ezreal had stayed. They could've talked about it instead of leaving Lux's thoughts to chase each other around in circles.

Was it right to condemn a child conceived in the name of love?

Was it right to endanger the future of Demacia?

Upsetting the Demacian royalty by producing an illegitimate heir could lead to massive confusion. And in those vulnerable moments, Noxus would strike.

Or would they? She and Swain were on good terms…But Jarvan's family…

_Ezreal just doesn't understand. This child could endanger my entire country._ She sighed harshly and rubbed at her eyes. "I can't win, Taric."

"Well, hear me out." Taric leaned back against the headboard of the bed, fiddling with a red silk cushion in his lap. "You're not scheduled to marry Jarvan until five years from now. From what I understand, Ezreal is willing to raise the child solo. The healers and I have ways of lowering the term of your pregnancy."

"By how much?"

"Two months, more or less. Personally, I'd believe the Demacians would be more upset if you didn't have the child. And as long as you never claimed it as yours, the Demacian dynasty would remain intact."

"Mmm." Sadness welled in Lux's throat. It tasted of tears and stung like hornets. "I see."

Taric continued, "Doing this allows Ezreal to keep the child and you to still bear legitimate heirs for Jarvan. If all else fails, or even if it doesn't, the healers and I will raise the child at the Institute."

"Really?" She blinked. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Oh, yes. Very few of us are capable of or desire reproduction. After Ryland's success, we're very curious as to how a child trained all their life would turn out. And besides that, we like to think we offer a more nurturing environment than orphanages." Taric looked away. "I don't mean to sway your decision. I just want you to be aware of your options."

Lux looked out her window. Done rehearsing the choral part of the Demacian hymn, Nami was working her voice on her solo. It sounded like chimes on the wind.

"The soldiers abide

At their every home!

Beneath Valor's eye

Ne'er will they roam!"

…_But what will my child think of Demacia when I don't claim them?_ "Thank you, Taric. I have your word that the healers will raise it?"

"Him," Taric corrected. "He's a boy."

Lux swallowed. For a moment, a vision of her and Ezreal raising their son in a verdant pasture danced before her eyes. _I joined the military with the understanding that the country comes first. I guess my fling with Ezreal did have unexpected consequences. I live to serve Demacia's greater good. _

"I'll consider it."

"Good! Then eat your soup. I'll go join the girls for the Ionian Wind Chant."

He left Lux alone with the alien presence inside her stomach.

…_I'm sorry._

* * *

Somehow, despite the gale and sweeping wind, most of the Champions managed to snatch a few hours of sleep. Ryland snapped awake as the first pale strokes of dawn painted the sky. The clouds were beginning to dissolve, revealing panes of blue through windows of gray.

Soraka peered over at him. "Mind helping an old woman?"

"Of course!" Ryland shook himself. The cold water had seeped so entirely into his clothes that his joints ached. His throat felt scratchy, too.

Soraka gently transferred Ezreal from her lap to Ryland's. Déjà vu crept into Ryland's mind. "I didn't realize how much of being a healer would be holding people."

"He responds better to your treatment. You may want to work on that cut a little."

Ryland nodded. It was interesting to use Soraka's teachings in such a practical way, though he wished he didn't have to.

Soraka's powers had stopped the blood from oozing out, but the line across Ezreal's chest was inflamed.

_And he finally Overflowed last night. And he's still alive. _Admiration for Ezreal's hold on life was replaced by a more unsettling thought.

…_Is he mortal? _

He traced the wound gently. Ezreal's eyes fluttered open, eerily bright blue against the gray dawn, locking on to his. Ryland had no idea what to expect. The last Overflow had caused him to sleep for three days in a coma-like state.

"It hurts."

"I know, but I have to fix it." His fingers brushed a particularly deep part. Ezreal moaned quietly and buried his face in Ryland's arm.

"Stop. Please."

"Ezreal, I have to fix this. It's not an option."

"No one ever stops when I ask them to."

"Shh."

"You sound like Kat," Ezreal whispered. Those eyes were so wide and scared, pupils dilated with pain and fear, and as blue as broken glass.

_Making a 'shh' sound? Can't really avoid that one, friend. Sorry, _Ryland thought.

Aloud, he said, "I'm not trying to hurt you. If you rest -" Ryland felt Ez writhe beneath his hand and pressed downward, trying to pin him.

"You're _hurting me_ –"

Ryland felt arousal stir in his lower belly. The warmth spread to his digits, warming his frozen fingers as they traced Ezreal's skin. Ez tried to grab his wrist, but failed. At last he gave up, lying still and watching Ryland's hand map his wound.

Then Ryland realized the run of his thoughts and twitched, snatching his hand away. Ezreal was panting.

"I think I might be corrupted," Ryland blurted.

"What?" Soraka tore her eyes from the blossoming dawn. She'd been meditating on the final few remaining stars. Frowning, she touched two fingers to Ryland's temples.

"My poor Ryland. You think so much of other people and so little of yourself. Your feelings are understandable."

_I'm glad you think they're understandable_, he thought. "What I'm feeling isn't okay. It's like – Katarina or something."

"Well, child, you both are Noxian." Soraka shrugged.

"No! I'm a healer!"

"And a good one, too."

"Then what –" Ryland looked down at Ezreal. Their eyes met. Ezreal immediately dropped his gaze, chest still heaving.

"Some speculate that mankind has to deal with war in different ways, to cope with it. Demacia channeled their energy into fighting, building monuments, and bettering their city. And Noxians developed sadomasochistic tendencies. They're sexually attracted to pain. That's why their forces are so brutal."

"I can't be a healer who gets turned on by pain."

"In the field, we focus on results, not theory," Soraka reminded him. "Relax."

"But –"

"If you continue to let your negative emotions rule you, you may very well become corrupted and act on your urges as Katarina did. You'd harm him greatly. I don't think Ezreal would appreciate that, and I don't think he would ever come near either of you again."

Ryland flushed with guilt, feeling Ezreal shift uncomfortably.

Soraka ignored it. "I have no time to heal my own healers, Ryland. I'm sorry."

"No, no. Your advice is sound."

Getting to her feet, she nodded. Sympathy shone in her eyes, but she was correct - she couldn't waste any energy on calming him down. When their resources were this depleted, healers had to rely on their training and themselves. "I'm going to check on the rest of the camp. Be careful."

Ryland struggled to free himself from his feelings, instead focusing on Ezreal's wound. Not on his golden hair sweeping across his forehead, or his delicate collarbones...

He stroked the gash with two fingers, almost as if trying to paint over it.

Ezreal was shaking. The healer had never seen him so distraught or weakened. His air of confidence was completely gone.

"Are you really in that much pain?"

"I'm trying not to make a sound. That's what – what turned Kat on."

Ryland sighed. "I'm not going to rape you."

"That's what I thought about Kat." Ezreal's teeth were chattering. "I can't stop you now. I couldn't stop Kat before the Overflow."

"It's probably just the stress wreaking havoc on my mind. I have a girlfriend, after all." _Well, it certainly didn't take long for this trip to turn into hell._

Ezreal bit his lip to stifle a wail as Ryland's fingers grazed the deepest part of the gash on his lower stomach. "I'm so pathetic!"

"You were about an inch away from bleeding out. I'd be more concerned if you weren't in pain."

His back arched as Ryland worked on the upper part of his chest. Small mewls escaped his tightly-closed lips.

Ryland gritted his teeth_. I can't handle this. He's in pain. I'm causing it. I have to do it. _He wrapped an aura around Ez's mind to catch the pain, to intercept it between his brain and the nerves in his skin.

_Ezreal, listen. I'll take half of it. I would take all of it, but I need that energy to heal you._

_Ryland, stop. Get out of my mind. _

Ryland closed his eyes. _Shh…_The sensation assaulted his own body, searing him, as his mind touched Ezreal's, then infiltrated it. Ryland's nerves felt like they were on fire. The pain wasn't concentrated as Ezreal's was around his wound. There was no locus, no center, so it covered his entire body in a white-hot sea of flame.

_Shh…_

* * *

Jayce opened his eyes to find Erinae asleep on his chest, thumb squarely in her mouth. His first thought – _I hope she was eighteen_ – filled him with shame.

Erinae startled awake. The stared at each other until Erinae shook her damp hear and leapt away from him.

"Sorry, I –"

"It's fine."

"No, no. You look like my older brother."

Jayce blinked. Women had said he looked like a lot of things, from King Jarvan to the devil himself. Brother was a new one.

_This just keeps getting weirder and weirder. I should invest in some Weird-B-Gon. _

The thought almost made him snicker and would've - if everything hadn't been so weird.

"Oh. Well. What happened to him?"

"He joined the Demacian military and I never heard from again. I actually came to the League looking for him. Didn't count on freezing to death with Jarvan IV underneath a fishbowl."

She laughed. Jayce snorted at the idea of the prince in a fishbowl – blub, blub, blub – then chuckled. Soon both of them were practically cackling.

They were still giggling when Varadi edged closer to them. "I hope ye aren't Skelgarn'd yet."

Jayce snorted again. "Me too. But I really hope those guys aren't, or else we're fucked." He pointed to Ezreal and Ryland, who were holding some sort of weird communion with each other.

"Aye, what's the blonde's name again? Ezrill?"

"Close enough."

Varadi leaned closer to Jayce. "Does he always do that? That witchcraft?"

Erinae wiped her eyes. "Not usually, no."

"I thought the aurora herself had come to take me into her bosom, into the warriors' afterlife. Surprised she didn't."

"Ezreal may end up being the aurora," Erinae muttered. "He's done it before."

"Done what?"

"Made an aurora. After he killed Zed. Jayce remembers, don't you, Jayce?"

Jayce nodded.

_The aurora stretched, expanded, filling the entire sky above the Institute. Ezreal and Ryland's bodies fed the aurora energy, their twinkling auras sending threads into the massive light show. After a few minutes, Ezreal's power showed itself as a sparkling border of gold, edging the blue-and-silver curtain, joining with Ryland's song._

Varadi rubbed at his chin. He already had a good growth of ginger stubble. "I hope ye don't think too poorly of me for asking a question."

"No, no. Go ahead. I'd love to help someone understand what the hell is going on." Jayce leaned back, covering his eyes.

Varadi let out a long, slow breath. "Is Ezrill a god?"

Erinae's brows knitted together. She looked to Jayce. Jayce's first instinct was to say no – most members of Piltover were atheists – but he paused instead. "You know what, Varadi? I honestly have no idea."

"What separates a mage from a god?" Erinae asked.

"A god is unstoppable. He can destroy with the bat of an eyelash. He can create the aurora and still survive."

Jayce's heart beat strangely. The idea made his skin prickle, made his blood seem to slow. "By that definition, yes. He is one."

"Should I give him a gift?" Varadi surveyed the tents, obviously thinking of what he could give the Explorer as a peace offering.

"I don't think it would help," Erinae said. "Just don't get on his bad side."

"Of course not." Varadi cocked his head, considering. "Mayhap I should inform Jarvan, the Exemplar of Demacia, that a god walks among us."

Jayce sighed. He and Erinae's moment of laughter was over for sure now. "Somehow, I don't think he'd be amused."

Their conversation was interrupted by Jarvan striding to the front of the collective. Despite the chill, the rain, the bad sleep, Jarvan's bearing was still that of a noble warrior. The high, angular planes of his face reminded Jayce of the mountains around Freljord. Jarvan's blue-grey eyes slitted as he surveyed the battered men and women.

"If I were in charge of this force in the Demacian army, I'd've been demoted by now, for mishandling resources."

"Good thing we aren't his soldiers, then," Erinae whispered to Jayce. Jarvan ignored her.

"We've lost thousands of gold in supplies. Our horses are gone, one of our men is wounded, and our healers are nearly depleted. We haven't even fought a real battle yet!"

Soraka thought of cutting him off, but said nothing.

"We are likely many days behind Lissandra, as she is not mortal and does not require the resources of a man." Jarvan sighed. "I know many of you dislike me, or even hate me, or, at the very least, disagree with my politically." He glanced at Ezreal. "And perhaps I have been too harsh. But if I have, it's out of fear. I have seen the Skelgarn with my own eyes."

He had their full attention. As the final drops of rain faded away, the dome overhead began to dissolve, letting in the fresh smell of the grass.

"When I journeyed south my band of knights, I did not know what I would encounter. I was a young, foolish man who believed I could overcome anything with brute force and iron will. But we – we ran headfirst into a pocket of corruption.

"Since I do not possess the powers of our healers, I was unaware of it. To me, it appeared as a swamp, full of muddy holes and trees hanging with moss. My men followed me deeper and deeper into its heart, and they became infected. I did not know until three of them rounded on me with flashing blades."

Jarvan paused and swallowed hard. "Three of my favorite men – for every man has favorites, no matter how impartial they say they are." He looked to Tryndamere to affirm this. He and Ashe both nodded. "And in that corruption, I was forced to slay them like wild hogs. I had the blood of my military on my hands. It was kill or be killed, and no matter the rank or office of a man, he values his own life first."

He surveyed the rest of the camp. They watched him in utter silence.

"I tell you this because I am afraid. The League of Legends is already a fragile truce, a crystal shot through with the flaws of self-interest and different political motivations. If the Skelgarn reaches its heart, the carnage I saw that night will be but a foretaste of things to come. I fear Runeterra itself will be destroyed.

"Thus, we must set aside our feelings, fight the Skelgarn in any way we can, and stop Lissandra."

He stepped away.

Soraka took his place, fixing his eyes with her own. "Then we need your military advice. Do we go forward today? Do we rest?"

Jarvan hesitated, again looking to where Ryland and Ezreal were silently communing. "I need to know how tired you and Ryland are. You're probably already more vulnerable."

Ashe hurriedly stepped forward. "I propose we journey forward with Soraka and leave Ezreal and Ryland to follow us at a slower pace. We can rendezvous near Angel's Crossing on the border of Freljord."

A ripple ran through the crowd. Ashe had solved it – no longer would they have to worry about the boy.

Soraka looked rather uneasy, probably at the thought of leaving her best student with a potentially lethal Champion. But what Ashe said made sense, and she had no grounds to argue with her on.

Jarvan coughed into his hand. "Ryland, Son of Merilyn, can you vow to keep Piltover's Grandmaster Explorer safe?"

The healer looked up. His gray-green eyes were sharp and alert. "Son of Darius, Hand of Noxus," he corrected. "And yes. I can keep him if I can speak to Soraka prior to your leave."

"We are counting on you for his safety. I have learned the errors of my youth." Jarvan bowed his head. "We will need Ezreal's powers to do battle with Lissandra."

Ryland regretted that Ezreal, in his semi-doze of pain, didn't hear Jarvan's compliment. "I will do my utmost, my lord."

Jarvan IV inclined his head. "To the rest of you, salvage what you can from the tents. We leave as soon as possible."


	15. Exposed

_N.B. Hello, dear readers! Again, I apologize for the long and frequent chapters. This chapter is rather special to me. I don't want to get too personal, but I had to find a way to work through some things, and I felt that fiction was my best option._

* * *

The left them Ryland's bag, a map, a compass, two days' worth of food, the few uncharred remains of Ezreal's clothing, a tent, two books on the Skelgarn, and two kisses for Ryland.

The first kiss was Kat's. After packing her things, she gingerly approached Ryland, who stood up to meet her. Ezreal saw her and immediately rolled over, hiding his face against the grass.

She looked away. "Ryland, I'm so sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me?" Ryland half-smiled. "Ezreal's the traumatized one."

"Traumatized? Was it really that bad?" Kat flushed.

"You fucked him up," Ryland said flatly.

Katarina waited. "You – you'll forgive me, right?"

"Yeah. Not right now, because it interfered pretty hard with operations."

"I can understand that. It'd be the same way in Noxus." She glanced at the Explorer lying on the ground. He was still shirtless from last night to let his wound breathe. She took in the huge purple bruises along his backbone.

She lowered her voice. "What's wrong with him?"

"Kat. He Overflowed."

"Are you – are you serious?"

"Yes. It looked like the sun fell to earth. Then we had that massive thunderstorm that scared all the horses off. Thank the gods for Jayce's weird fucking inventions, or else we'd probably be dead by now." Ryland squinted. "No one told you?"

"No one told me shit, and I didn't remember." She leaned against his chest. Ryland could tell she wasn't lying. "I didn't do it on purpose. I know that doesn't mean much, but I also know he's your best friend."

He kissed her on the cheek. She responded by pulling him close and kissing him deeply. Ryland thought he tasted a trace of Ezreal on them and flinched. Then she pulled away and said her goodbyes.

The other was from Soraka. Strands of star-colored hair were flying from her ponytail. "I have a few last minute tips. Try to play your clarinet for him every night. The flute, too. Play some of the healing songs around him." She looked up at him, concern fully showing in her face. "Ryland – are you sure you can stay with him?"

He knelt down and pressed his mouth to hers. His lips warmed her cold ones, mingling heat and chill. He swiftly withdrew, eyes dancing in his mud-spattered face.

"Be safe, Soraka."

"And you, my pupil. Ryland."

* * *

Ezreal's mind, still crackling with the remnants of Overflow, refused to let him rest. When his brain wasn't full of strange voices yammering together, the information he'd read scrolled through his head in large, ruthless letters.

_After an Overflow, one often experiences a sensation of lesser physical powers and weakened magic ones. This sensation is called "Tides." This name arises from the fact that many Overflows occur around the time of a full moon, and likens the powers to the ocean._

He awoke just as the contingent was saying their final farewells. He felt a tearing sensation in his chest that had nothing to do with his wound.

_They're leaving us. They're abandoning us. _

"They're afraid," Ryland said. "After the fireworks last night, I don't really blame them. I'd be scared too."

"I didn't mean to," he murmured. His voice cracked – his throat was raw and dry. "She had a knife. She was going to hurt me."

Ryland watched the rest of the group move out, Jarvan leading them with steady strides. Soraka turned back and waved one final farewell. They became a black dot, vanishing in the distance.

The healer stood on his toes, gazing at the horizon. "There's a forest about half a day from here." He knelt down and pressed his hand to Ezreal's forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Scared."

"Why? It's just me now. No Kat, no Jarvan."

Ez shook his head. "Never been so helpless. Couldn't fight her." His mind tried vainly to stop the words from spilling out of him, but it couldn't. "I had no control over anything. Some big shot Marksman I am, huh?"

He struggled to sit up. Ryland saw the sides of his wound stretch a bit. A rill of blood trickled down Ezreal's chest. "Kat was trying to hurt me – she was holding me down – then my powers –" he burst into loud, hacking coughs. Ryland noted with alarm a trace of gold snaking alongside the edges of the cut.

"Hey. Ezreal. It's over."

Ezreal groaned. "It's never over. Lux is going to marry Jarvan. She's going to give up the child for him while I actually have to save Demacia. All of Runeterra. Some thanks I get." His tone was bitter, exhausted. "You know what? I just want someone to love me more than anything else. Anything. Is that too much to ask?"

Ryland closed his eyes. _Someone that's not me. Got it._

He opened them to see Ezreal studying him. In a low voice, Ez said, "You know how it feels, don't you? To do everything for someone and then not get it back? Don't you? Where you would literally sacrifice your life for someone – give it up – and not get a thing in return."

"Ezreal, I don't think now is an appropriate time to discuss this," Ryland said in his best, neutral healer voice. _If I get upset, we're both done._

Ezreal grabbed his arm. "Well, fine. You know what? You can have it. Anything." He gestured to himself. "I can't stop you. Take what you want." Ryland stared at him blankly even as Ezreal took Ryland's hand and put it over his chest, letting Ryland feel his fluttery pulse.

"You want me, don't you? You want me. We've danced around this for months. You always – you always say 'we don't talk about this' or 'we shouldn't discuss this now.'"

"Please breathe," Ryland said calmly. His chest and cheeks were burning.

Ezreal coughed. "So, fine. You can have me. I'm yours. At least you want me. No one else does. I'm ready to pay you back."

Ryland opened his mouth and abruptly shut it again. _He's corrupted. Gods help me. _

"I'm _not_!" Ezreal shouted, doubling over as pain licked through his body. "You're corrupted for avoiding it. We all know, Michael. Ryland." His blue eyes were burning with sincerity. "Just let it go!"

Ryland's mind riffled rapidly through his training, but his thoughts were interrupted by a series of images. Seeing Ezreal fight on the Rift. Reading all of Ezreal's books. Meeting him at last.

Fighting side-by-side, a Noxian knight next to the very emblem of light. A boy who reminded Ryland of the dawn breaking, sunlight bursting victoriously through the cerulean sky.

Ryland took a long, deep breath. "Only if you calm down first."

He stroked Ezreal's hair and neck until his shaking stopped. Around them, the wind rippled through the grass, indifferent to their plight.

_Don't think of his offer. He's not in his right mind. _

_Poor Ryland, never a thought for yourself. _

"So," he said aloud. "How do you know Lux is going to ditch you for Jarvan? Aren't you just guessing?"

"No. I felt her decision today."

"Oh." Ryland cast around his weary brain for words of comfort, but couldn't find any. He settled for deepening the strokes on the Explorer's shoulders. Ezreal regarded him with catlike eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ezreal. Tell me if you don't want to be touched."

"I already told you I can't stop you. Do what you want. This is, what, the seventh time you've saved my life? You can hurt me. I deserve it." He closed his eyes, as if anticipating a slap.

Ryland bit the inside of his cheek hard to distract himself.

"Do you want to talk about Katarina? You seem to be having some, ah, issues processing that experience."

"Oh, that. It's quite simple. She held me down. I was scared, but aroused, but mostly terrified. She raped me. Repeatedly. Does that happen to other guys? Can you even get raped by a woman?"

"Any time you have sex with someone who doesn't consent, you've raped them. It's was rape."

Ezreal laughed bitterly. "It's never happened to you. Or Graves. Or Jarvan. Only me, because I look so pathetic, because I am pathetic."

"Pathetic? Some of the people in our camp think you're a god. An actual god."

"I'm not physically. I couldn't fight her. Just like I can't fight you." Ezreal shivered. "It's why Lux doesn't want me."

Ryland looked him over. Still bruised and scraped, still heavily wounded on his chest, though Ryland's healing efforts had stopped the redness and partially closed the gap. Pale from Overflow and lack of sleep.

He put his hands on Ezreal's shoulders. "Ezreal. Relax."

"You still haven't fulfilled your end of the deal. Just – just tell me how you feel." He leaned closer to Ryland, his expression unreadable. Ryland edged away.

"Why?"

"Everyone else tells you how they feel. Even Soraka."

"Ez – "

"Stop avoiding it! You do whatever I ask, right?" His eyes flashed. "Then _stop avoiding the question_."

Ryland gritted his teeth. "Fine. I love you."

The relief that statement brought blasted through Ryland like a wintry gale. Months of frozen, silent agony melted away.

The sensation was so sharp and sweet it brought goosebumps to his skin. Parts of his chest that he didn't even know were clenched loosened at last. He could breathe again.

* * *

_ "What else can possibly be bothering you at a time like this?" Taric asked. He sat forward. _

_ Ryland swallowed. "Ezreal." _

_ The Supports sat back, small frowns replacing their smiles. He couldn't sense what they were thinking now, not without really invading their privacy._

_ They knew how much he loved him, and how that love transcended anything sexual or carnal. It was something close to worship. _

_ Taric had confessed once that the depth of Ryland's love for Ezreal had scared him. _

_ "What about Ezreal?" Soraka nibbled her nails. _

_ "I -" Ryland shrugged helplessly. _

_ "My advice?" Taric patted his head. "Stick with Katarina." _

_ "I am - I just -" Ryland shook his head. _

_ "Stick with Katarina," Soraka echoed. Her eyes had grown sorrowful. There was no easy answer for Ryland when it came to Ezreal, mostly because the other Champions didn't know precisely what Ryland wanted. _

_ If it had been simple love or lust, it would be easier to deal with. But the worshipful feeling - the deep desire for friendship –_

* * *

Ezreal fumbled for the canteen and chugged half of it, sputtering. "Finally."

"Well, I guess I do feel better. I should take your advice more often."

Ez wiped his lips. "You want a response?"

"I…"

"I told you you could have anything." Ezreal leaned against Ryland's shoulder for stability, gazing up at him with those heartbreaking blue eyes.

"Well, I don't want it to be fake," Ryland murmured.

"I love you, too."

Ryland snorted. "No, you don't."

"Not sexually, or romantically, or anything stupid like that. But as a person, even if you bug me because you're overprotective or nosy, I do. You've done everything for me and I love you for that." He nudged Ryland. "Don't you want anything else?"

"Nope." _And I think that's true. I don't want anything else. That's all I've been waiting to hear for the past five years. _

"Sure you don't want to hold me down? Tie me up? Bite me? Let out your inner Noxian?"

Ryland sighed. "It's not like that. My affection for you. It's more – I don't know – spiritual?"

"How so?"

"I love you as a person. You're – you're just – perfect. It's incredible."

Ezreal's eyes darkened with sadness. He looked away. "I don't know what you're seeing."

"You."

"I'm awful, Ryland. I'm nerdy, clumsy, weak, moody – I knocked up a Demacian officer -"

"You make everyone so happy."

"Tell that to the camp that just left us behind, Ryland."

"No, but – when they see you on the Rift. Or when they read your books. You're beautiful. You're so beautiful. God, it feels so good to finally say that to you. I think that about you often, you know? I see you and think that you look like a statue of a warrior from Ionia, or a painting of an angel -"

Ezreal closed his eyes. "I didn't know you felt like that. No, that's a lie. I did know. I just didn't – I didn't –"

"Know how to address it? It's kinda creepy, huh?"

"No, it hurts."

"Everything seems to hurt you these days."

"It hurts to hear you say these things when I haven't done anything for you but made your life worse."

Ryland leaned closer. "You haven't."

"I've messed it up –"

"You help me get into the League –"

"But you've almost died."

"…But I love you." Ryland felt a faint prickle of coming rain brush across his skin again. The signs of Pulsefire Overflow were much more subtle.

Ezreal met his eyes, enchanted ocean to forest green. He said nothing.

In Ryland's mind, the moment froze like a picture. He knew that, as long as he lived, he would never forget this, the sight of Ezreal's blue eyes against the waving sea of grass.

The moment broke. Ryland looked away. "I don't know what it is. Love is the only word for it."

"Why didn't we just talk about it earlier?" Ezreal shook his head.

"When you first came to the League, I was advised not to discuss it with you because they didn't you to leave."

"I wouldn't have minded, but I don't feel the same way exactly as you do," Ezreal said cautiously.

"That's fine. I'm not asking you to feel like this." He brushed a strand of golden hair from Ezreal's eyes. "I'm just glad I got to tell you."

Ezreal lowered his eyes. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I wish Lux felt the same way about me. But she feels this way about Demacia instead. She worships her country."

"I guess we all worship something, don't we? What do you worship?"

"I want to say Lux, but I think the real answer is knowledge." Ezreal bit his thumbnail, completely calm now. "I've always loved learning."

"Understandable." Ryland waited a beat. "So what do we do now?"

Ezreal sighed. "Wait for me to heal. Get to Angel's Crossing by Freljord."

"Have you been there before?"

"I went to a conference on Freljordian wall art there. The town's gorgeous but tiny. A lot of people from Piltover retire there."

Ryland snorted. "How old were you when you went?"

"About eleven, I think."

Ryland shook his head. "You've been so smart for so long. Just skipped your childhood."

Ezreal gazed up at the clear sky. He would be happy to get back into the cover of the forest, to hide himself among the shadows of the trees. The empty whistling of the grass was eerie.

"I wouldn't have had a childhood anyways," he murmured. "Piltover orphanages aren't bad compared to the ones at Bilgewater, but they aren't good, either."

"Everyone's parents are terrible. So many unwanted children." Ezreal winced. Ryland bit his tongue and berated himself for being stupid. "Sorry for reminding you."

"I just hope Lux understands."

"She won't, though." Ryland plucked a stalk of grass and began pulling it to pieces. Hatred for Lux brushed against his mind. He forced it away. "She's from a good family. She takes her parents for granted. That's why she doesn't understand why you're upset."

"I don't want to think about it right now," Ezreal said quietly. He closed his eyes, leaning against Ryland, not resisting when Ryland pulled him closer. From afar, Ezreal heard the piping of a wild hawk, like the totem he had tucked into his bag.

"You shouldn't have to think of it now. Just rest."


	16. Interlude: Time

Graves waited in the shadows beside the Institute's gates, his dark cloak thrown over his shoulders, rippling in the early breeze. The dawn was growing stronger with each passing moment, tingeing the windows of the shops with a dusky pink.

He was traveling as light as he always did. The leather bag slung on his back held a few changes of clothes, a bar of soap, a bottle of pain pills and a bag of coffee.

Caitlyn, Vi and Sarah Fortune stealthily joined him. Vi was dressed down in jeans and a white t-shirt. Cait and Sarah both wore simple travelling dresses, Cait in blue and Sarah in a forest-green.

Sarah's unruly red hair wreathed her face, giving her a mysterious sylvan air. She almost looked like a healer – if it weren't for the touch of dark humor twinkling in her eyes.

Caitlyn's brown hair was pulled back in a ballerina bun, her lips painted a rosy pink. Her femininity raised Graves' eyebrows.

"You pick an odd day to be a lady," Graves muttered.

Caitlyn sniffed. "I'm always a lady, Malcolm. There's more to it than wearing a pretty dress."

"Sure." Graves snorted and took a drink from his coffee thermos. The heat from the liquid fought the early morning chill from his aching joints.

_Getting old. Always getting older. One of these rides is going to be your last rodeo_, he thought.

"Then let's make it a good one," he said. Caitlyn blinked.

"Did you say something, Malcolm?"

"Talkin' to myself. Say –" Graves pointed to a fourth caped shadow striding over to them. "Who the fuck invited him?"

Fate cocked his head back for a moment. The sun caught his eerie, wolfish yellow eyes. They flickered humorously. "Good to see you too, Malcolm."

Graves scowled. "I didn't know all this, now."

Cait hushed him. "Fate wanted to come with us. I figured we might need some magic power on top of our guns. I thought you'd be a big enough cowboy to go through with it."

"Besides, aren't you going to let bygones be bygones? That's how we do things in Bilgewater, remember?" Miss Fortune nudged Graves shoulder. The sweet perfume of violets rose from her hair.

Graves gritted his teeth, trying to fight down the bitterness rising in his throat and chest. He felt so old, but Fate still didn't have the slightest touch of gray in his hair or line on his face.

Fate still held his gaze with a half-smile, but Graves thought he saw something else, some other indescribable emotion lingering beneath the grin. Like a fox realizing he'd almost met his match.

_He wants to go on a heist again. Like the old days_, Graves realized suddenly. _He feels just as old as I do. _

Hesitating, Graves clapped a hand to Fate's shoulder. From the corner of his eyes, he saw relief and approval flood Fortune and Caitlyn's faces.

"Let's go, then."


	17. Part 3: War

_ There are only two certainties in life – winter and war. Spring may withhold her warm curtains of rain, her bounty of fruit. Summer hides her glowing face from us. But always there is the hint of chill and winter, of famine and violence. Winter lingers, as does the constant threat of battle. _

- Jarvan II

* * *

Lissandra silently surveyed the ranks of trolls arrayed before Generator IV.

Trundle waited on one knee, hand clasped before his chest. A breeze ruffled the fur trimming his coats' cuffs. His ugliness was underpinned by the virgin snow he knelt on.

"You've done well," Lissandra said at last, but her tone was dismissive and half-hearted. Trolls were such ugly, ungainly things, with their gnarled limbs and bulky bodies. Their noses ran like fountains though they lived in the cold, and the faint smell of dead ox followed them wherever they went.

No, though the trolls would do whatever she said without the slightest hesitation, she was beginning to prefer Viktor's beautiful and deadly creations. Blind loyalty was nice, but style was better.

Trundle seemed to sense some of this and gave Lissandra a look of displeasure, visible even on his deformed face. "Are you certain, m'queen?"

Lissandra smiled. "Well, you've done the best you could, at any rate."

Trundle bared his teeth slightly. "I can always take m'troops somewhere where they're more appreciated. The troll army has no single master."

Lissandra laughed, a short, sharp sound that seemed to freeze in mid-air. "You know I could control these brainless creatures with or without your consent. Their minds cannot oppose mind. You should be thankful I'm deigning to pay you."

"Then why doncha?" a small thin voice ventured from the back of the detachment.

Lissandra whirled. A black bolt of ice shot through the young troll's heart, piercing him. Steaming blood gushed to the ground from his chest and mouth. He went rigid as the fluid in his body froze, his internal temperature plunging below that of space.

She watched the spectacle with detachment. Yet another reason she was coming to prefer Viktor's troops more and more. No blood, no mess, no feeble cries for mercy punctuated by death gurgles.

The troops struggled to recover their composed, gulping and shivering. They didn't look at their comrade.

"Any other questions?" Lissandra called. Her voice echoed across the snowscape. "Any others who don't understand?"

Trundle shook his head, jaw clenched.

Lissandra smiled again. "Good. You are dismissed. For now."

Viktor chose that moment to stride out of the Generator, cape whirling behind him. Ordinarily Lissandra would have dismissed it as needless dramatic flair, but the harsh environment of Freljord almost necessitated such clothing for mortals.

Or whatever Viktor was.

"Good news, m'lady. The target has been separated from the rest of the group."

A flicker of surprise crossed Lissandra's features, revealed as a twitch of her lips. "What happened?"

"Nothing that my drones and your spies can determine. They are simply split." Viktor waited. "M'lady? Are you functioning normally?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just…shocked by such an absurd tactical decision. Especially with Jarvan leading the group. It's so –"

"Stupid?" Trundle offered, then covered his lips. Lissandra nodded.

"Yes. Stupid."

"Mortal beings, even the most tactically minded, are often irrational," Viktor sniffed. "I presume we will take advantage of this. I am waiting for your instruction."

Lissandra sank into thought. Her countless eons of battle experience had taught her that every action must be carefully deliberated, meticulously planned. The trolls, though broken from battle formation, still cast many glances her way. Viktor waited with the patience of a machine.

At last she drew Viktor into confidence and began to speak.

* * *

"Something troubling you?" Tryndamere finally asked. The group had stopped for their midday break. Jarvan IV was rarely a happy man, but lately his face was set in a permanent scowl.

Without Ezreal, Jarvan's contingent was actually making progress. They travelled for six mostly uneventful days. Every night they followed the customs of Freljord, telling tales and singing songs around a roaring fire. Varadi was of late telling stories about the barbarian zodiac – of rainbow castles and frozen oceans.

According to Varadi's map – which was surprisingly accurate – they were planning to break from the forest that evening.

So there was no reason for Jarvan to look quite as unhappy as he did. Besides, Varadi had cautioned Tryndamere, Ashe and Sejuani to watch for the slightest change, the smallest alteration in behavior. It made sense for Trynd to investigate their leader's frown.

Jarvan sighed. "I've been contemplating the boy Ryland. That his mother had the audacity to pass him off as Demacian…she even named him after one of Demacia's guardian angels, when he was sired by one of our greatest enemies –"

"I thought Ryland was a Noxian name."

"The boy changed it from Michael a while ago. I believe the name was a touch of black humor on his mother's part. Michael is the guardian angel of our troops in battle, and Michael's father has slain thousands of my soldiers."

Tryndamere nodded slowly. He had no healing art, but he knew from his position of power that listening had many benefits. "Why does this naming upset you?"

Jarvan looked ahead of them, into the heart of the forest. "It seems that Demacia is slowly becoming corrupted, even if the Skelgarn has not touched it."

Jarvan thought of Merilyn's bastard son and how Michael/Ryland had rapidly achieved fame within the League. Then of Luxanna, swollen with a Piltover's child.

_She was to be my Queen…she may not have defected, but she isn't remaining true to Demacian purity. How could she? _

_What does Ezreal – that blond, pathetic, wimpy, girlish boy – what does he have that I don't? _

A quiet, still voice in his mind said _He has powers beyond your imagination. Magic is far greater than a kingdom and nice palace, Jarvan. _

Tryndamere clapped him on the shoulder. "I often have thought that of Freljord m'self – that it's becoming impure without the Skelgarn. But we Freljordians are more used to it, as the clans struggle endlessly for power. The idea of purity isn't central to our beliefs. But aye, I understand."

Jarvan nodded, surprised by the barbarian's compassion. "I appreciate that."

"And I appreciate your willingness to aid the Freljord," Ashe said. She swiped sweat away from her brow. "It reminds me that the Institute has good uses. That it's more than just a political agreement."

Jarvan bowed from the waist. His face shifted, revealing a heart-deep weariness. "And that's why we must protect it."

* * *

Soraka, not the most social of beings to begin with, was left alone with her thoughts for most of the trek. The other Champions saw her as mystical and distant, and she guessed she couldn't blame them for thinking that.

_I can't stop worrying about Ryland_, she realized tiredly, pressing a hand to her aching eyes. _It's going to interfere with my powers if I can't quit._ _I've tried almost everything. Meditating. Tea. Admitting my faults._ _The focus chants_.

_Have you tried conversation? _She thought she heard Nami's voice. But she realized it was simply her own mind. It sometimes took on the characteristics of others when she thought of things from different viewpoints.

_Sometimes the solutions aren't mystical, _the imaginary Nami laughed. _Sometimes they're right before you, and you don't see them for your meditation. _

_Well, I guess it can't hurt, _Soraka thought.

"So what exactly did you do to him, Kat?" Soraka looked to the assassin. Katarina, too, was walking mostly alone.

Katarina looked up, startled. "What?"

"To Ezreal, I mean. Ryland hinted that your actions while corrupted may have led to our separation."

"I, uh. I don't remember. He was pretty bruised up, though."

"I heard some of what happened," Jayce offered. "My tent was next to his." His travelling companion, Erinae, slowed her walk to match the others' pace.

Katarina felt a slow flush of shame climb from her collarbone to her cheek. "What'd you hear?"

Jayce covered his grin with a cough. "Moaning. Lots and lots of moaning."

Erinae snickered, though she felt a pang of jealousy. Everyone had some form of a crush or another on the Explorer.

Soraka's brow furrowed. _Well, this is certainly distracting enough. _"I don't understand. Presumably he's engaged in intercourse before without such an explosive reaction."

Jayce and Erinae exchanged a look and tried to fight their laugher. Erinae guffawed.

Katarina cleared her throat. Still blushing, she said "From what Ryland told me, it was not a pleasant experience."

_I've fucked plenty of powerful men, but never such a famous one. Damn…I wish I remembered it._

_Poor Ryland. _

"I just don't know why it caused him such great concern. I think there's a hidden aspect to his psyche, one we haven't uncovered yet." Soraka nibbled her fingernails. "I got the impression from Ryland that it involved bondage."

Jayce and Erinae couldn't restrain themselves. Their cackles made Jarvan and the Freljordians glance over their shoulders.

Katarina shot them a dirty look. "Hey. This is serious shit, alright?"

"I heard – oh man – I heard him say 'Stop, please' and you said 'Shut up, prettyboy.'" Jayce snorted.

"It's not funny!" Katarina shouted. "The kid almost killed all of us!"

"Well, it's not my fault," Jayce said. He patted Katarina's shoulder. Soraka tensed, waiting to see if he would be suddenly be spotted by blades. "I'm sorry, Kat."

Kat blew out a long, slow breath, fighting her anger. True assassins were never consumed by heat – they committed their acts in liquid, icy rage. Besides, Ryland wasn't there to defend her from Jarvan's sword this time.

Ahead of them, Jarvan came to a halt and held out his hands. They stumbled to a stop.

They had reached the first normal traces of civilization. Or so Katarina thought.

The ten or twenty small huts were connected by a footbridge spanning a bubbling brook. She espied a few small plots of land standing tall with some sort of grain.

Then Katarina realized what was wrong and felt a chill slide up her spine, coiling there, constricting it. She felt herself readying her blades, but the action was distant, detached. She felt the cold anger that was the centerpiece of all assassins filling her body.

The village was entirely deserted, though the houses showed no signs of decay. She'd encountered this trap thousands of times.

_You're not getting me this time. Not next time, either. Prepare to die, whoever you are._

A wail pierced the silence, running through it like a knife through a veil. Even battle-hardened Tryndamere flinched.

The cry continued. It was joined by others, forming a hellish chorus, punctuated by someone shouting "Help! Help me! Please! Anyone!"

Katarina glimpsed Jarvan's face and saw the same grim knowledge written there. It was a trap, but they were duty-bound to help.

_How many times have Jarvan and I played this trick on each other? Demacia and Noxus? It's a classic one. _

He signaled them to move forward. Kat clenched her teeth.

They crept through the deserted villa. Kat and Jarvan scanned the windows of the huts relentlessly. Jayce unslung his Mercury Hammer shakily, all cheer gone from his face. Erinae had her own blades out. Shorter than Katarina's, they weren't designed to bounce. They were shivs instead.

"Found them," Tryndamere said quietly.

Behind the village was a massive bonfire, so bright even against the daylight that the Champions had to squint. Villages around the flames were either caged or lashed to makeshift crosses with bloody linen. Cloaked figures rushed to and fro, slapping the prisoners to shut them up, or gleefully beating them until blood rained from their necks and noses.

As they watched, one of the figures uprooted the cross holding a large beefy man, holding it over the fire.

The man's eyes went blank with terror. Muffled screams rose above the crackling fire and sadistic laughter.

Kat and Jarvan moved as one, two edges of the same sword sired in the heat of battle.

Without hesitation, Katarina leapt into the center of the figures and descended into the Death Lotus. A thousand flashing blades flickered through the air, catching the light from the fire and blazing as red as embers. Each knife found its mark without harming a single townsperson.

Ashe's slower arrows followed, striking the figures that showed signs of movement. Soon their corpses bristled with deadly projectiles.

As the bearer of the cross caught an arrow and began to fall, the cross toppled forward, towards the bonfire. Jarvan crossed the ground in almost-impossibly long strides, seizing the base of it. He bared his teeth in a snarl as he struggled backwards. For a moment, the cross wavered. The man lashed to it closed his eyes.

Jayce, Soraka and Erinae held their breath.

With an echoing shout, Jarvan threw the cross away from danger. The cross bounced twice. Though the man struck his head against the ground, he doubtlessly preferred that to dying in the fire.

Soraka, unfrozen now, ran to help. Tryndamere, Sejuani and Varadi followed, brandishing their weapons.

Erinae looked to Jayce. Tears were twinkling in her eyes. All traces of her earlier humor were gone. "Well, I feel useless now," she said hoarsely.

Jayce sighed, watching the scene of carnage. More of the hooded figures were pouring in around them. "Good fighters will make you feel like that. But we're fighters too. Come on."

* * *

Jarvan had a secret that only one woman knew.

He was afraid of fire.

The sight of a man about to be burned alive filled his stomach with terror as cold and black as the bottom of the ocean. He'd seen it many times, but no matter how many, the horror of burning alive turned his courage to weakness.

But he conquered his fear as he'd done before, ignoring the heat flash-searing his lips, and the fire licking playfully against his shoes, and the flame flash-searing his lips. He had to save this man from his own worst nightmare.

And because he was Jarvan, the Exemplar of Demacia, he did so with barely a thought.

Perhaps this explained his love for Shyvana. She was the only woman he feared, and thus the only woman he could ever love.

* * *

Varadi, Tryndamere and Sejuani fought shoulder to shoulder, slashing and hacking and thrusting. Before Trynd's massive blade, a hundred figures seemed to die.

When their enemies died, their cloaks seemed to swirl and flutter weightlessly, giving Tryndamere the disturbing impression of fighting shadows.

Four or five of them closed in him at once. He flinched backwards, feeling the muscles in his shoulders begin to turn leaden.

A blast of energy blew them away from him. He turned to see Jayce aiming his Mercury Hammer at him. "Good!" Tryndamere called.

Jayce nodded. Sweat poured from his skin. His black hair was a wild mess. They hadn't been able to quench the bonfire and so were fighting around it.

"Go! I've got you!" Jayce called.

Tryndamere waved his hand and waded out of the battle to take a moment's respite. _Haven't warmed up. Let me breathe and then I'll fight even harder._

Inflamed by battle, Jarvan hacked and slashed, never missing a step. Katarina's attacks were more subtle, feinting left and right, dodging every blow, then retaliating with fans of blades. She picked them up and repeated the process again, inexorable and deadly as time itself.

Varadi's combat was just as blunt and brutal as Sejuani's. Though graceless, it was just as effective.

And with a faint sense of pride, Tryndamere watched his wife snipe their enemies from a nearby rooftop

Who was he missing? Ah, yes. Where was Erinae?

The field was a complete chaos of flickering black robes, blood and terrified villagers, but he eventually spotted her. Erinae danced from form to form, stabbing them. Tryndamere blinked.

Erinae's mouth was open, exposing abnormally large canine teeth. She leapt from shadow to shadow with disturbing grace.

_Werecat_? Tryndamere thought. _Ah, everyone's a damn mystery, these days. _

He chugged the rest of the water in his canteen and waded back in. A deep, feral joy filled his body as he joined Varadi. _This is where the barbarian king should be – on the fields of battle, not the Summoners' Rift._

But the thought whirled away like the cloaks of the shadows he fought, and soon there was only the hack, sash, burn and clamor of battle.


	18. Adrift

_ Lux walked through the battlefield._

_It was a scene she was familiar with. Corpses lie in mounds around her. Demacian youths, blue eyes staring blankly upward, yellow hair matted with grime, their shining armor slathered in their own red-black blood. The blooms in their cheeks were only beginning to fade into the gray pallor of death. The sky overhead was tinged a faint gray from the fog of the funeral pyres._

_ Katarina stalked out from among the dead. The smoke swirled around her, hiding everything but her red hair and emerald eyes. She clasped Lux's shoulder._

_ "You fought well. You will be rewarded for your service to Noxus."_

_ Lux looked down and felt her stomach clench. _

_ Her armor was black._

* * *

She was startled awake by the slamming of a door. The light slanting through her window was a rich auburn.

_It's already late afternoon…I guess being pregnant does take a lot out of you._

"What do you mean they're gone? How many more times will I have to say that this week?" Another door closed with a hollow boom. Lux flinched. Zandred.

"First it's the evil queen, then the stupid piece of machinery no one cares about. So I have to send my healer, another two queens, a king and the most popular Champion in the entire gods-damned League!"

Lux got up, trying to ignore how heavy her stomach felt. She rested her hand on the swell of her belly. Her blonde hair was only slightly mussed from her nap – she'd slept like the dead.

She tiptoed to her door and peered out. Zandred, his purple robes a wrinkled mess, sat at the base of the giant tree in the Supports' atrium. His head was buried in his knees.

"Zandred," Lux said softly.

He started and looked around. "Oh. It's you. I'm, ah – " He got to his feet and fussed over his robes. "I hope I didn't disturb anything."

"What happened this time?"

Zandred looked away. "The Marksmen, Vi and Twisted Fate are gone. They left me a note saying they were going north." He covered his eyes with his hand. "Seems to be a popular vacation destination lately."

"Oh." Lux wished she could comfort him, but this situation was simply too terrifying. Even when Zed had attacked and infiltrated their Institute, it was still _their _Institute. Whole. Complete.

"I just don't know what to do," Zandred said huskily. "Everyone is leaving. Are we just – just going to give up? On peace and justice?" His voice cracked on the last word. He pressed his clenched fist to his mouth as his face crumpled.

Lux swallowed hard. It certainly felt like the world was falling down around them. She'd heard that phrase so many times without fully understanding it, but now she did. She felt the mental structures she'd built – her love for Ezreal, her faith in the League – begin to sway.

If the Institute fell apart, there'd by nothing to keep Runeterra at peace. The Ionians would fight among themselves. The Freljord would become even more war torn than it already was. And the Noxians and Demacians…

She instinctively moved forward to catch Zandred. His face fell on her shoulder. He sobbed silently, quivering.

Lux held him. There was nothing else to do.

* * *

"We need help!" Jarvan called. Somehow his voice carried over the sound of battle. It was the call of a man forged in war, one who had practice making himself heard over the cries of the wounded and wails of the dying.

As he watched, four of the shadows set upon a child who had squeezed through the bars of his makeshift cage. A bloody gash appeared on his throat. It wept scarlet as more shadows leapt onto him, squealing, pulling him apart.

And the shadows would not stop coming. Their merciless onslaught was tiring even Tryndamere. His arms and shoulders were groaning pitifully under the stress. Ashe's fingers were raw, and blood spotted the drawstring of her bow. Varadi and Sejuani had run to seek refuge back in the town, to find supplies or people.

Only three people still appeared unfazed.

Jayce wielded his Mercury Hammer with righteous fury. Katarina was transfixed by the dance of her blades.

And Erinae.

The last was fighting with a bizarre grace. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, her mouth slightly agape. There were so many black cloaks lying at her feet that tripping over them was a real danger. And still they kept coming.

Fighting a feeling of desperation, Jarvan ran from cage to cage, releasing the prisoners. Some thanked him, but most gazed up at him with dumbfounded eyes before hurling themselves towards their town.

"If you're not a coward, fight with me!" he shouted at their retreating forms. But none returned. A robe batted against him with an inhuman shriek. Jarvan flung it away with a Demacian curse.

He spotted Soraka chanting and closing the eyes of one of the dead. He ran to her and hauled her up.

"We need you to fight!" Soraka staggered backwards, shaking her head. Jarvan tightened his grip on her forearm, ignoring her quivering. "Use your powers! We're not enough!"

"My powers can only heal, Jarvan!" she called above the phantoms' ghastly cries. A tear of weariness rolled down her cheek, capturing the light from the fire. The sky, too, was turning a fiery red as the sun cycled downward.

Jarvan shook her by the shoulders. "We need your help!"

"I cannot harm people in the name of the stars!"

"Fuck your stars!" Jarvan slapped her, sending her reeling. "Do it now!"

Breathing heavily, Soraka raised her palm. It was outlined in a minty green light, a sharp counterpoint to the blood, the fire.

Her energy lashed out like a lightning bolt, flickering from shade to shade in a series of playful arcs and loops.

They dropped to the ground as one, their bodies covering the ground like drifts of snow.

Soraka fell to her knees, gasping and sobbing. Jarvan was immediately hit with a wave of remorse and terror. Seeing a healer on her knees, sobbing like a child – but no. No time. He had seen far worse and there was no time for compassion.

Katarina, Erinae and Jayce ran over to her. Jayce in particular was panting in huge, ugly gasps.

Jayce and Katarina knelt over her. "She's saying something," Jayce muttered. He smeared his black hair away from his face, trying to ignore how dirty he felt. Their enemies hadn't been human, but that still didn't stop his revulsion at having fought them.

"We have to check the rest of our troops –" Jarvan began.

Katarina held up a hand to silence him. She unlatched her canteen, took a swallow, then said, "She's calling for Ryland."

"Aren't we all?" Jarvan laughed sarcastically and gestured to the carnage around them. "I guess we just can't function without the half-breed and his lover."

Katarina flicked an icy gaze to Jarvan. "You're corrupted, aren't you?"

"Hold your tongue," Jarvan growled. "Hold your tongue!"

"He's not corrupted," Erinae breathed. Her pupils were giant black galaxies against her golden irises. She didn't look fully human still. "My brother started acting like this right before he left for the Demacian military." She was looking at the crying healer with interest. Soraka's hands were hiding her face.

Erinae swallowed and looked up to Jarvan. He couldn't read her yellow, catlike eyes, so he shrugged. "I don't have time for this."

"No, you wouldn't. You Demacians never do." Katarina glared at him. Jarvan felt rage surge inside, rising and rising despite all of his training. It was white hot as a dragon's breath. It was consuming him.

He grappled with it and won, as he always did.

"I'm trying to protect Runeterra. I know you all disagree with my methods but – but they're the only thing I know."

Their eyes darted to him.

Jarvan coughed – it felt like the smoke was a giant mass inside his lungs. "I've been in the military my whole life. I'm a poor dealer in emotion. That's why we have soldiers and healers."

Katarina and Erinae's gazes – one emerald, one gold – remained affixed to his face. At some hidden signal Katarina nodded. "You're right, Jarvan. I'm sorry."

He nodded slowly, considering her. The white of her skin untouched; the red of her hair a secret fire of its own.

"I'll tend to the others. I must."

"Go," Katarina said. She crouched beside Soraka and bowed her head. Tears rained in an endless stream down Soraka's cheeks. "Go."

* * *

For the first time in years, Ryland truly felt at peace. He and Ezreal waited on the plains for three days, camped among the rolling waves of tawny grass. The sky at day was a cool, fragile blue unbroken by clouds.

At night, the endless expanse of black was spotted by stars. They wandered and flickered like diamonds, illuminating the sky with their cold, silvery light. They seemed to hover close to earth. Ryland felt he could pluck one between his fingers.

Hesitant to put the Voxstone on, Ezreal shone at night, too. Ryland watched as the Tides of magic simmering in Ezreal's veins brought muted auras to the surface of his skin, shimmering around him heatlessly. All three types of magic made an appearance.

_Ocean blue. A mighty force, roaring and crashing against a sandy beach. _

_Quicksilver. Light and affectionate, loving and kind. The gentle light slanting through a forest at midday._

_Topaz, warm and rich as a king's treasures. _

Sometimes playing healing songs helped. The light would scatter from Ezreal, breaking into whirling particles that went to join the stars. At other times, Ezreal glowed long into the night, the light revealing the curve of his jaw and his long eyelashes. He gave off as much light as a lantern.

He and Ezreal didn't speak often at night, instead listening to the hush of the world around them.

Ryland, usually unable to sleep, contemplated the stars. _I wonder if this surge of power is permanent. Before, he was only Overflowing in Standard Alpha. Now there's Pulsefire. And Empath. I don't understand…_

He put the clarinet to his mouth and played a few notes that echoed over the prairies. A few moments later, a whippoorwill sang the notes back to him, the only sound for miles.

_This is what his entire life has been like. This quiet. Alone in places he's never been before. _

Beside him, Ezreal stirred. His aura, which had been pulsing a slow, sunlit yellow, flickered with red.

Ryland's breath caught. _I've never seen that before. _

He racked his brain for information. _Silver for Empath, green for healing, blue for Pulsefire, Gold for Standard…Red?_

He watched, hypnotized, as veins of rich ruby swirled around Ezreal. Ryland tentatively brushed his hand across Ezreal's forehead. Normal.

He heard the whippoorwill sing his melody again, almost as if requesting Ryland for a duet. Beneath his hand, Ezreal's aura was slowly diffusing back to silver. The red grew softer, then disappeared.

_He's a mystery. I will never understand. _

Ryland pressed the clarinet to his lips and began to play.

* * *

Jarvan surveyed the injuries. Sejuani's mace was broken. Her right wrist was swollen.

Varadi's knees were cramped with fatigue. His tribe, apparently, shared this common bodily defect.

Ashe's fingers were rubbed raw. Tryndamere had sprung a muscle. Jayce had a nasty gash beneath his right cheekbone. Erinae's hands were cut with her own blade – and Soraka.

Soraka's psychological wounds were unable to be gauged. Only Katarina was entirely unharmed. Jarvan found that suspicious, but decided not to comment on it. The others seemed already to be on the verge of mutiny.

_And I'd rather not be slain by a Noxian in my own bed. The bloodfeud would last for centuries…_

Still, he collected them all and trudged with them towards the village. Soraka, eyes closed, had to be helped by both Katarina and Varadi.

The light had faded to a dusky gray-black, obscuring the others' features. Jarvan could only identify them by their different breathing patterns – Erinae's light and fluttery pants to Tryndamere's steady gusts.

At some point during the chaos, the man on the cross had disappeared. It disturbed Jarvan. Nagged at him.

_You can't let the small things bother you, Jarvan_, Shyvana whispered in his mind. _Battle is always chaos and sometimes the details slip, even from you. _

He staggered into the town, which was merrily lit by torches. The smell of meat and spices washed over them. _I'll be damned if they don't lodge us after that fight, _he thought sourly_. I should've sent Lux. She's better at dealing with civilians_.

He cautioned the group to wait by the mouth of the village, then walked to the largest building, trying to ignore the pain singing in his own joints.

If Katarina wasn't in pain, neither was he.

He hammered on the door.

"Who goes there?" A voice immediately cried back, thin and reedy with terror.

"Jarvan IV, Exemplar of Demacia, and its prince. I and my troops require lodging."

He waited patiently as a peephole was moved back – not that anyone could really see in the dark.

The door creaked open, revealing an old woman. Long, gray hair fell past her shoulders to the small of her back. Her faded red velvet dress lent her an air of elegance.

"You fought for us," she said. "For that, I thank you. I am Amanita." She ushered him and the others in. "I only have three rooms and six beds. I'm sure many of you would lie together, anyways." She chuckled.

Jarvan felt his stomach clench, right above his groin, but ignored it. His skin was suddenly alight with tiny flames of paranoia. His intuition didn't always yield results, however. So he shrugged it off as post-battle jitters, and nodded curtly.

The others pushed past Jarvan, eager to lie down.

"Where are we, m'lady?"

"Been a while since I've been called that." Amanita hooted laughter. "Welcome to Arrow's Head. I have little food, but…"

"That won't be necessary. We're exhausted."

Jarvan thought he saw something, a quick flicker of malice in the woman's faded gray eyes. But with the shadows from the lamps and his aching head, he could be sure.

_Never thought I'd prefer the Piltover's electric light to old-fashioned lamps_, he thought sleepily. "Amanita, could I trouble you to prepare breakfast for us when we awake?"

She curtsied stiffly and nodded. "Aye, aye. Least I could do for saving us. Rest well."

Jarvan wasn't too surprised that he had an entire room to himself. The Freljordians were sleeping cheek to jowl in one room. He passed the room with the others.

Katarina lay staring at the ceiling, a hand wrapped around Soraka almost intimately.

_Well, she is Noxian_, Jarvan thought. _I wouldn't put it past her._

Erinae was perched on Jayce's chest, her tiny form emphasized by the Defender's bulk.

He examined himself grimly in the small mirror in his room. His face was grizzled and baked by the heat of battle. He slowly removed his shirt, hissing when the fabric took a portion of sticky skin away. He'd been cut on the shoulder.

_Maybe I am corrupted. _

_No, no. I think like a warrior. Compassion just isn't one of my strong points, and these weaklings aren't used to it. I'm what Demacia needs in a leader_.

"Not compassion," he said aloud. "Strength."

He sank into the bed with a grateful sigh. It was surprisingly soft.

And as he had on so many lonely nights, he imagined talking to Shyvana. This imaginary conception of her gave him advice or chastised him or loved him.

Tonight it was advice.

_Stop underestimating your followers, _she murmured_. They aren't weak. We cannot underestimate them anymore than we underestimate the Noxians. _

Jarvan closed his eyes, thinking of Katarina's deadly, mesmerizing grace. Those blades had lapped the blood of countless Demacians. The last thing his troops saw was the glint of her emerald eyes.

_Ana, could you really blame me for wanting her dead?_

_No. But rest. Dream well, my lord. _

Jarvan's mind filled with images of Demacian festivals, where he danced with Shyvana in a slow, whirling gavotte. Her dark blue dress' silk seemed to brush against his skin.

When sleep claimed him, there was a slight smile on his lips.

* * *

Ryland awoke to see Ezreal surveying the sun, hand shading his eyes. "We have to move," he said.

Ryland nodded. Though these days had been the most relaxing ones of his life, Ezreal was right. Runeterra – Valoran – was depending on them. "Let me see your wound."

Ezreal smiled. "Any excuse to check me out, eh?"

"Hush." Ryland rolled his eyes and got to his feet.

The gash was healing well, though it still looked bad. If he hadn't been spiritually exhausted, he could've just closed it. But recovering his full healing potential, after suppressing Overflows for so long, would take weeks, if not months.

"How's it look?"

"The edges are red. But you're right. We have to leave." Ryland traced the line on the Explorer's chest. Ezreal winced.

"It only hurts when you touch it."

"That might mean infection." Ryland sighed.

Ezreal waited patiently for Ryland's verdict. He'd somehow accepted that Ryland knew best in this situation. It was the first time he had no problem submitting to someone else's will.

"We'll go slow," Ryland said at last. "And if it hurts too badly, we'll stop. You have to admit that it hurts, though. No tough guy stuff."

"You won't be impressed?" Ez half-smiled, then went to gather up their things. They could condense everything into one bag, even holding the folded tent. Their rations were almost gone.

That didn't worry Ryland overly much. Over the past few days, he'd perfected his technique of snapping a rabbit's spinal cord with a burst of mental power. Unlike Soraka, he had strong offensive capabilities.

He watched as Ezreal pulled on his cleanest shirt, then tied a slightly burnt scarf around his neck.

"That's Lux's?"

"Yes." Ezreal looked away. "I stole it."

"I think she'll be okay."

Ezreal nodded. "So which way are we headed?"

"To Freljord."

Ez snorted. "I got that. But do we follow the others? They're taking a really long route. I think it's stupid."

Ryland unfolded the battered map of Runeterra, biting his thumbnail. Like all healers, he had basic navigation skills, but nothing compared to Ezreal's.

Ez crouched beside him, his warm breath brushing Ryland's shoulder. "See. We're here." He flicked an unmarked area of the map. "If we head straight north, we'll reach Angel's Crossing pretty quick."

"We probably won't catch the others anyways. Jarvan was kicking into man-mode."

"True," Ezreal said softly. He looked up at the sun again, either checking their position or losing himself in thought.

Ryland studied him. Their rough diet and energy use had melted what little muscle Ezreal had. He was a scrawny kid again.

_He's still handsome. Some people always are._

Ryland thought of rejoining the others and sighed again, deeply.

"What's wrong?"

"You're just so happy and relaxed without the others."

Ezreal considered this. "True," he said again.

"I hate seeing you unhappy."

"Ah. Well, as nice as it would be to wander around with you for a few more weeks, the others need us." Ezreal lent Ryland a hand to help him stand up.

"Six months ago, you would've wandered off with me. We'd be in some ancient temple by now."

"Yeah," he said casually. "But people change. You know that. Ryland, Son of Darius."

It was Ryland's turn to flinch. Ezreal had such a way with words sometimes. Simply naming his true father was enough to remind Ryland that people did change, all the time. They drifted and wandered like the stars in the night sky.

Ezreal was looking at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

Jayce half-awoke to a butterfly kiss.

"Not you too," he murmured. With closed eyes, Erinae leaned in again, caressing Jayce's bottom lip with her tongue.

Jayce pulled away. His eyes fluttered open to see Erinae's golden eyes glowing in the dark. He jumped. She looked away.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"What are you? Gods above," Jayce whispered. His heart was throwing itself at the wall of his chest.

"I'm not sure. Not a vampire, though." She leaned in again. Jayce felt her soft lips graze his jawline. His muscles stiffened.

"How old are you again, kid?"

"Fifteen."

"I'm twenty-seven."

"So?" Erinae kissed him again. Her delicate hands pulled him closer, caressing the nape of his neck. Edging away, she grabbed one of his hands and placed it across her breast. His hand was so large it almost spanned her chest.

Jayce's thumb brushed a nipple, hardened by arousal. He fought his lust.

"I'd tear you apart. And not in a good way."

"I can take it," she whispered back.

"Come on, kid. I'm too tired for this."

"Promise me for later?" Her teeth grazed his collarbone. She opened her eyes, revealing their catlike gleam. He found them disturbingly erotic.

_Well, Piltovers are always attracted to the strange and new. And not too many of us have fucked – whatever she is. For science?_

"You're really young."

"I thought guys liked that."

Jayce thought about his ideal woman – a tall brunette in a red designer gown, pouring wine into fluted glasses. A slow dance played in the background of her posh apartment.

Hmmm. Nope. That was basically Erinae's opposite.

He felt her fingers creep slowly to his half-erection and sighed. "Please don't pull a Katarina on me."

"Shut the fuck up," Kat said quietly from the other side of the bed. Erinae was so startled she almost fell off of Jayce's chest.

"S-sorry for waking you up."

"I don't really give a shit, but if you're going to fuck, do it so I can jack off to it and get some fucking sleep."

Jayce snorted. "You kept me up before, lady."

"Correction – Ezreal's bitch-moans kept you up."

"Someone's cranky."

"My boyfriend and his boyfriend are off fucking each other on the plains somewhere, you're going to fuck a werecat and I'm stuck here with no action at all, following Jarvo the Fourth?"

"Jarvo?" Erinae struggled not to laugh. Jayce could feel her body quivering with humor.

"What I'm getting at is you two are making me hot and bothered, and I'm not in the mood to fuck a comatose unicorn, so either get it over with or shut up."

They waited a beat.

"Cranky," Erinae said softly. Katarina sat up.

"If you won't do it, I will. Just you watch."

"Can we not?" Jayce said, exasperated. It was all very well and good to make out with his travel buddy, but he wasn't eager to share Ezreal's experience.

"I'm the Piltover Rapist. I hope Caitlyn comes after me with handcuffs. I could use a pair."

Erinae snickered.

"Shut up, kid. I've a mind to fuck you too, fifteen or not."

"What?" Jayce felt Erinae's muscles tense. He heard Kat's blankets rustle as she extricated herself from Soraka.

His breath caught.

"Kat, you should probably lay back down."

The assassin dug through her bag, then struck a match. She was radiant, even with her muddied clothing and gore-speckled cheekbones. "We have a tradition in Noxus. You screw after battle."

"That's very nice," Jayce said cautiously.

The pupils of her eyes were enormous, almost as big as Erinae's. The match went out.

Despite the probability of hot lesbian action happening on top of him, Jayce felt a flash of genuine fear. Katarina could kill him and Erinae so easily. One stroke of a dagger – one thrust of a blade.

_Now I know why Ezreal freaked out. This is pretty weird. _

Katarina hauled Erinae off of him by her elbow. The girl actually hissed.

"This'll teach you to quit being such a tease. 'Promise me later'?" Katarina mocked.

Erinae struggled, actually biting Katarina's hand between the thumb and forefinger. She wrestled Erinae onto the bed, on top of Jayce.

"I don't know whether to be aroused or scared," he observed. Everyone could probably hear this. He resolved to keep his mouth shut.

"What. Not your thing?" Kat had Erinae pinned.

"Yeah. The whole – I don't know – submission thing never really appealed to me."

This was one of the strangest moments of Jayce's life. He could feel Erinae's pulse stampeding through her body. He could feel Katarina's hot breath against his ear.

A branch snapped outside.

Kat and Erinae immediately whipped around towards the window.

"What was that?" Erinae whispered.

Moving silently, gracefully, Katarina stole towards the glass, peered out, and swore so loudly that Erinae sprang to her feet.

"Jarvan! Trynd! Get ready!"

A room away, Jayce heard the bed creak. He swallowed, trying to clear his dry throat. "What? What's happening?"

Katarina strode towards her backpack, plucking more daggers from its mouth. "Look. We're about to get lynched."

Jayce looked out the window. A galaxy of torches stood outside. From their fluttery light, Jayce could make out the gnarled faces of trolls. The man at the head was the very man Jarvan had saved from the fire.

"We're surrounded," Erinae said quietly. Jayce heard the note of hopelessness in her voice and fought his fear.

He heard Jarvan and the Freljordians murmuring and walking back and forth. He heard Varadi curse. "By ice gods above and below!"

Jarvan peered into their room. "Stay in here. Guard Soraka. Hide if you have to."

"Yes sir," Jayce answered crisply. Jarvan nodded and strode away.

The eerie trumpet of a battle horn drifted over them. He felt frozen.

_I don't know how people do this – put themselves in battle – go to meet violence. _

His heart pounded irregularly. Erinae was looking to him, waiting.

"We should barricade the door."

"Right." She sprang away, hefting a night table in front of the hinges. Jayce's muscles shook as he lifted the bed.

"The window," Erinae whispered.

"Don't touch it. Maybe they'll forget about us."

Jayce swallowed again, then lifted Erinae and gave her a long, deep kiss. "Erinae, if anything happens –"

"It's been real," Erinae finished, grinning wolfishly. "Definitely."


	19. Faults

"So. Do you believe there's a god?"

Ryland looked at Ezreal curiously. The notion of the Explorer being a deity was haunting him, Ryland realized. Every night, he dreamt of Ezreal ascending upward, taking his place among the shimmering curtain of stars.

If he didn't know anything about Overflow or Tides, he definitely would've thought Ezreal was inhuman. Especially because Ezreal was beginning to glow during the day, too.

The Explorer's body – not the strongest to begin with – wasn't a sturdy enough vessel to contain his power. Ryland knew that the magic had to be hurting him, pounding at his slender form like the ocean against sand. Maybe the Tides were eroding his delicate veins, or chipping away at the walls of his heart.

But the magic didn't seem to trouble Ezreal consciously. They tried to forget about it as they walked along together, listening to the sound of the forest around them. They often pointed out the small wonders to each other – the neon pink lizards, the auburn butterflies, the exotic birds.

Ryland was too spiritually exhausted to constantly suppress the Tides.

_And if he's immortal, I suppose it doesn't really matter. _

Ezreal nibbled on a strip of jerky, brows furrowed in thought. "I guess I don't really believe in a single one. I've studied thousands of gods, you know?"

"So, are you a traditional Piltover? Atheist?"

Ez shook his head and sipped his water. He'd had less of an appetite lately, something else that Ryland worried about.

"No, no. I think there's…something. It's kinda this feeling I get when I look at temples people have made, or artwork." He took another tiny sip of water. Ryland saw a coil of velvety red drift through Ezreal's aura and swallowed hard.

"What do you mean?"

"There's something that drives the human spirit. It's more than biology. There's something that makes people love, create and destroy." He regarded Ryland with his tidal-blue eyes. "Don't you think so? Especially as an Empath?"

"I've never thought of it that way. You're talking about something like a life spirit?"

"I guess so." He cocked his head. "Something that makes us different. We have a soul."

Ryland saw a wave of gold flicker through Ezreal's blue eyes. He put his own canteen of water aside.

"Ezreal, are you feeling okay?"

"Why? Because I've been Overflowing continuously for the past week?" He did the half-smile that made Ryland's heart lurch. "I thought it might be protection against the Skelgarn. You know – how a fever burns out germs?"

"That's comforting. Aren't you in pain, though?"

"My muscles are stiff from the charge, I think."

"You should probably put the Voxstone on."

"I don't know if it would help." Ezreal leveled his gaze. The dark circles beneath his eyes contrasted with the perfect gold hovering around him like liquid sunlight. His cheeks were a bright red from the constant sun exposure. "You know, sometimes I still wonder if you've taken all you wanted from me. I'll still do whatever you want."

Ryland watched as silver slowly pulsed through the glistening aura. "It's enough being around you."

Ezreal shifted, looking skywards. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, reinforcing the idea behind Ryland's frequent dreams. _I wonder if he belongs in the sky. _

Ezreal looked down, still half-smiling. Ryland realized that there were tears clinging to the corners of the Explorer's eyes. "Ezreal?"

"I'm worried about dying," he whispered.

"What? Why? No, no." Ryland leaned forward and clasped Ezreal's forearm. His chest squeezed tight. There was a deeper tug of exhaustion in his muscles, like dragging wool through thorn bushes.

The pain whispered that he was too spiritually exhausted to stop the Overflow, and that knowledge filled him with cold fear.

"I've seen the dreams you've been having. I'm scared." Ezreal leaned against Ryland's chest. "You're psychic, right? How do you know that's not going to happen? How do you know I won't just – leave? Fly into space?"

"I've also had dreams about riding a flying bicycle, Ezreal." Ryland pulled him closer. Ez's chest was heaving in short, quick bursts. "They don't always come true. You're not going to die."

"No one has Overflowed like this. Not with every power. Not for days on end."

"But you've been doing it for a week and you're still okay."

"I feel like my body's going to give out," Ezreal mumbled against Ryland's shirt. Ryland gritted his teeth.

"I won't let it happen."

"You don't have the power to stop it."

"I'll find it."

"You can't –"

"I will!" He held Ezreal by the shoulders, his gray-green eyes blazing with desperation. "I'll do anything. Between the two of us, we'll keep you alive, but you have to stay calm, alright? That's what I want you to do for me. If you Overflow –"

"But Ryland, I am Overflowing." Ezreal's luminous eyes seemed to take up most of his thin, drawn face.

"Then we'll have to invent another word. You can publish a paper on it later. You know what I mean, don't you?"

Ezreal did. This uninterrupted flow of energy was different than the wild storm that sometimes erupted from his body.

"You can help me pick out a name for it," Ryland said softly, pulling him closer. Ezreal's aura was beginning to lightly singe Ryland's skin.

"Storm," Ez whispered. He was thinking of Ian of Piltover, and the hurricane that had lasted for weeks in his wake.

"Yes. We'll prevent the Storm, alright?"

Ezreal nodded. He and Ryland sat in silence, listening to the birds chirp and insects whirr around them. He caught the tail-ends of Ryland's thoughts:

_I've already saved you so many times. I can do it again. I have to._

Ezreal contemplated the words that had taken over his life – Tides, Overflow, Storm. All of them made of water, as powerful and mysterious as the depths of the ocean.

"When this is over, we'll take a vacation," Ryland said aloud. "You, me, and Soraka. We deserve it."

Ezreal said nothing. Still in Ryland's embrace, he looked towards the sky.

* * *

Lux could hear the Supports' choir over the roaring of her shower. They had transitioned to songs in other languages. This one, it seemed, was in the Tidecaller's native tongue, full of long vowels and sparkling consonants. It reminded Lux of listening to a river.

She hoped the Supports' maintained their choir.

If there was an Institute around to hear it.

_Well, that's what I'm going to go see._

She delicately rubbed soap across her stomach, and washed the sweat from her hair with her violet-scented shampoo. Her breasts were larger and aching, swollen. She couldn't remember when she'd last taken a shower and was suddenly grateful for the Supports' understanding.

Once out, she tugged on a loose dark blue dress and brushed her hair into soft waves. The bump in her stomach was obvious, but there was little she could wear to avoid that.

In counter to Zandred's desperation, the Institute seemed just as alive as it always did. Freed from their duties, delegate Summoners wandered around the premises, cheerfully catching up with friends. Many of them still wore their flowing purple robes.

The Ionian Summoners and Champions seemed to be hosting a cookout. Yi and Karma, dressed in traditional red Ionian garb, worked the food over hot coals. They occasionally tossed tidbits to Kog'Maw.

The scent of charred meat wafted through the air. Lux's stomach growled in speculation.

Communities of laughing Novices went about their duties, sweeping the pathways and watering flowers. The trees around the grounds were exploding into fireworks of orange and red.

She saw LeBlanc and Diana conversing. LeBlanc was casually eating an apple, her lips just as red as the fruit.

Wukong was leading a mixed martial arts class in the street. Lux watched as a few young Novices worked to replicate his deceptive grace and failed.

Leona and Pantheon strolled past, arm-in-arm. For once, the pair wasn't wearing their armor. Pantheon had left his helmet behind, revealing a surprising shock of thick brown hair. Leona's sundress fell in shining ripples down to her knees. Her rich, auburn tresses sparkled in the sun.

Luxanna's breath caught. The Institute felt so alive, vibrant, real. She'd gone about her duties as a Champion without paying much attention to it. But the congregation of Summoners and Champions from around Valoran suddenly seemed precious and delicate. It needed protection.

She made her way past the crush of people, into the quieter quadrant of the Demacian Quarters. The statue of Garamond stood before her, smiling softly in welcome.

She offered up a small prayer to him, her guardian battle saint. _Garamond, protect those I love. All of them. _

She opened the door and was surprised to find Garen, Shyvana, Swain and Darius sitting together in the lobby. They glanced up to see her. She curtsied.

"Ah, the lovely Luxanna," Swain said. His eyes brushed past her stomach. Was that sympathy lurking in that battle-hardened gaze? Lux thought so. "We were just speaking of you."

"Hello, sister," Garen said, eyebrows raised. Darius nodded.

Lux cleared her throat. "Ah. What other matters are we discussing?"

"We were ensuring that our peace would continue even if the Institute is in jeopardy," Darius said. He shrugged. Even in his casual wear, he still looked massive and deadly, the muscle in his shoulders rivaling even Garen.

Not for the first time, Lux saw a deadly symmetry between the forces of Demacia and Noxus. She and Katarina, Garen and Darius, Swain and Jarvan, Ezreal and Ryland…

"And we were discussing whether or not the Institute really is in jeopardy," Garen continued. "I am of the opinion that it is not."

"As we all are. The Institute is sound," Swain added. "And we will do what we can to preserve it in these difficult times."

"That's good," Lux said huskily. Relief made her knees go weak. "Is this peace a matter of the Skelgarn, or is it permanent?"

"We will discuss that at a later date," Darius said firmly. "Have you any news from Ezreal or Ryland?"

"Or anyone?" Swain sighed. "We didn't make preparations for Katarina to contact us. We just assumed she would."

"I haven't heard anything from Jarvan, either," Shyvana said quietly. She flicked a glance at Lux.

Lux's face flushed_. Gods, I didn't even think of Shyvana. She's probably just as bad off as Ezreal. _

"Unfortunately, I have no news."

"Well, the Marksmen will hopefully overtake them and communicate with us somehow. Quinn was among their numbers." Swain looked to Garen, who nodded.

"Quinn is trained to communicate with us via Valor, yes."

"Meeting adjourned? I have to rest my old joints." Swain stroked Beatrice's fluffy head. The raven stretched her throat forward, cooing.

"Will you use Beatrice to contact the others if we don't hear anything?" Lux asked. Swain raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, that's a good idea." His voice seemed softer than usual, as if he were speaking to a granddaughter. Lux fought a fresh blush from burning her cheeks.

_Everyone pities me when it's my own stupid fault. _

"May I speak to Lux privately?" Shyvana asked. The others in the room fell silent. Darius and Swain exchanged an unreadable glance.

"Yes. Of course," Lux said calmly. Her insides turned cold.

"Very well. Have a nice afternoon, Garen. Shyvana. Lux." Swain and Darius shook her hand as they exited.

Darius' fingers enveloped hers. Lux managed not to shudder at the strength emanating from him. She tried not to think of the thousand Demacian throats he'd popped with the same deadly digits.

Garen left, too, leaving Lux and Shyvana alone.

Shyvana stood up and went to the window, looking out of it. Some days she was more dragon than human. Like Ezreal, her powers interacted with her body.

Today she was more human. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail that trailed far past her shoulders. Her eyes were outlined in coal black. Instead of her traditional armor, she wore a short, tight green dress.

"You are with child," she said without looking at Lux.

"Yes."

"Is it Jarvan's?"

"No."

"Then he was speaking the truth. He has not bedded you."

"No, he hasn't." Lux waited. Her cheekbones felt as if they would burst into flame at any moment.

"It is Ezreal's, then." She turned to Lux. Her face was unreadable, the pupils of her eyes large, slanted and reptilian. "I will never understand how a soldier of Demacia could love someone more than the prince. You love your country. He is your country."

Lux looked down.

"You are still destined to marry him, as well. I am sure you are, even after – betraying him." Shyvana clasped her hands together so tightly that her knuckles creaked. Her shoulders were quivering slightly.

"Ezreal isn't Noxian," Lux whispered.

"Pah. He can be from anywhere. He's not Demacian so it doesn't matter." Shyvana now looked at her, curious. "Don't you oppose marrying Jarvan? Traditionally, bearing someone's child indicates that you love them. Or at least that's what Jarvan said."

"I –" Lux stopped. "I love Ezreal, yes."

"I could tell. You've loved him for years." Shyvana sat down at last, eying Lux intently. Luxanna thought she felt the temperature in the room begin to climb steadily. Was it Shyvana or her imagination?

"So what will you do? Bear the child at Jarvan's court? Have Jarvan suckle him like a wolf suckling sheep?"

"Shyvana –"

"A fine example that will make of Demacia." Shyvana snorted, and a coil of smoke drifted from her nostrils. "No wonder we seek peace with Noxus. We can't handle their forces with a bastard prince at our helm."

Lux felt a tiny bloom of anger. "You aren't Demacian, either."

The halfling laughed, loosing another lazy puff of smoke from her mouth. "I'm more Demacian than you are, Luxanna Crownguard." Shyvana's eyes slitted. "I haven't betrayed the prince."

Lux's fingernails dug into her legs, scoring them. Tiny trails of blood appeared beneath her dress.

Surely her love for Ezreal wasn't betrayal. His tender caresses, his kisses lingering on her shoulders, the way he nuzzled her chest. How he held her in his arms and sang the old Demacian lullabies when she couldn't sleep. His love overwhelmed her.

* * *

_Her touch ignited him. A deep warmth, like twilight beneath a July sun, filled his body. _

_ She pulled back and dove into the pool, sliding beneath the waves almost silently. Ezreal pinched his nose and followed, relishing the cold water closing over his head. The crystalline blue enveloped the two of them. It was like swimming through the sky. _

_ He found her again and kissed her, longing to lose himself. The lonely years in empty caverns, the terrifying initial summonings to the League, the hatred from the other carries._

_ Lux fled into Ezreal, from the deaths of thousands of soldiers, the immense pressures placed on her as a member of the Crownguard family..._

_ All these things added to the weight of the kisses they shared._

* * *

She saw clearly. Ezreal's love was worth a kingdom. Worth ten thousand kingdoms.

Something inside of her was breaking, Lux realized. She couldn't tell if it was physical or mental, if it were the baby or her soul. Perhaps they were one.

She met Shyvana's arrogant glare with sky-blue eyes. "You can have him, then, if you want him. Take the prince. I don't want him. He's – he's proud, boring, cruel –"

"What are you saying?" Lux saw Shyvana's pupils dilate. Her eyes became inky pools.

Lux discovered she didn't care. Let Shyvana charge at her with wrath. Let her former sister-in-arms strike her down.

"I hate Jarvan. I hate him," Lux gasped. Her breath was being squeezed from her lungs; she was being crushed beneath a thousand tons of snow. From the corner of her eye, she saw Garen fling open the lobby door. "I hate him. I hate the prince."

Shyvana leaned back, startled. "He's a wonderful warrior. He has the soul of a dragon."

"Then you can keep him," Lux said bitterly. "Ezreal has the soul of a human. A human like me."

The Half-Dragon shot to her feet, her fists clenched. "This is treason," she hissed. The scent of smoke filled Luxanna's nostrils. "I knew – we all knew –"

Fangs jutted from Shyvana's upper lip. The end of her ponytail was smoldering. Tiny fragments of her dress were falling as ash to the floor, tiny twinkling embers.

Lux grabbed her knees and laughed. She tilted her head back and laughed until her chest was heaving. She mopped at her eyes and said, "Knew what? What could you possibly know, you – you – lizard?"

"You're a Noxian!" Shyvana roared. "You're a traitor!"

The temperature around Lux soared. She felt sweat break out across her face, felt her skin scorch. The top layer of her delicate white flesh was flash-burnt a brilliant pink.

The hungry fire climbed the walls, torching hundreds of priceless artifacts in its wake.

"Stop!" Garen shouted. He shielded his terrified eyes from the light. "Stop! Shyvana! No!"

Lux smiled at the inferno in front of her. She was unaware of the fresh cascade of tears swelling down her cheeks. Her thoughts detached from one another, drifted by on spider webs.

_I think Ezreal and Shyvana should've been a couple. They could've given birth to a star instead of a bastard prince._

_I'm going to die by one fire or another. Either Lightbringer or the breath of the dragon. _

Lux closed her eyes, waiting for Garamond to fetch her, to ferry her into whatever darkness waited after death.

She didn't hear the door of the Demacian Quarters slam open. She didn't see the Supports arranged outside. She didn't see Nami raise her staff and desperately slam it into the ground, summoning a giant wave from the moisture in the air.

She and Garen were flung to their stomachs from the force of tide. The old wooden chairs, blue carpets, lamps and books were thrown together in a mixture of swirling debris.

Shyvana loosed a long, painful roar that reverberated around the entire Institute, partly pain, partly anger.

Her frame shriveled. Her fangs and wings retreated.

A few moments later, human Shyvana, too, lay on her stomach with only a few scraps of clothing clinging to her body. Somehow a few tiny fires persisted.

Garen was clutching at his temples. The floor beneath his head was a muddied scarlet. Blood seeped into the soaked rug.

The Supports looked to Taric for guidance, but the Gem Knight could only stare at the destruction. He pressed a trembling fist to his lips. His eyes were wide with shock.

He was doubtlessly thinking the same thing they all were – they longed for Soraka and Ryland. People who could help them put things right.

"Zandred," Nami whispered. "He's going to have a heart attack." She clutched at Taric's shoulder desperately. "What do we do?"

"I –" Taric shook his head. His Support training had fled him. He felt like a crib-child again.

"We need you!" Lulu tugged on his gray shirt. Her golden eyes were wide with panic. "Taric! Please!"

A cloud of purple robes was rapidly accumulating outside of the building. Whispers began to blow through the crowd like errant breezes.

Taric felt his chest seize. The Institute was in his hands now. If the Summoners became panicked…

"Order! Order, please!" Swain rapped his walking stick against the pavement. He and Darius had headed back towards the Demacian Quarters as soon as they heard Shyvana's cries. The Summoners gradually quieted down.

Swain coughed into his sleeve. He passed his staff onto Darius with a weary gesture.

Taric thought he saw a flicker of surprise cross Darius' face before he took it.

The Hand of Noxus cleared his throat and looked at the mass of people before him. He squared his shoulders and stood to his full height, dwarfing almost everyone.

"Summoners – as you may have heard, there is unrest brewing in Runeterra. At the Institute, we are often sheltered from external events. It is not so this time."

The crowd shifted uneasily, still whispering. Darius raised a hand to quiet them. He projected an aura of calm, of order. Taric thought distractedly that that was rather odd, considering his Noxian background.

"Do not worry. We have faced worse before, and only a few months ago. And, despite the danger, we stayed together. It is the first time in Runeterran history that a coalition this large, this diverse, has kept its heart in the face of adversity. I believe we intend to do so even now."

Taric glimpsed Zandred appear at the back of the group. The desperation blazing in his purple eyes matched how Taric felt.

Darius' voice rang over the pavestones and brick roofs."That being said – do not trouble yourselves. If anything, we are even stronger than we were then. Enjoy this respite from competition. When the trouble is over, the Summoners Cup will commence."

Darius handed the staff back to Swain and stepped away. The Summoners, all murmuring now, broke apart into little groups, doubtlessly reliving the Zed scare and its aftermath. Darius and Swain shuffled towards the Supports, pressing through the Summoners, ignoring the questions hurled at them.

"I'm out of practice in terms of public speaking," Darius said apologetically. He swiped a bead of nervous sweat from his temple.

"Some people communicate with the axe instead." Swain whispered something to Beatrice. The bird seemed to listen, then nod.

Taric felt the world sway a bit around him, saw the colors blend together like a surreal painting.

Beatrice took to the sky, soaring above the nervous, bobbing heads of the Summoners and Champions. Taric watched as the wind caught the silky black edges of her wings. She circled in a gyre, then winged towards skies unknown.


	20. In Arms

Katarina spent a few moments finger-combing her hair. Looking put-together and unafraid was often the best way to unsettle an enemy. If she looked more confident than they felt, they were immediately cast off balance.

The lack of sex had created a deep ache in the bottom of her belly and center of her chest. She'd been looking forward to her conquest. Jayce, like Ezreal, was fairly famous.

She was positive Ryland was taking some sort of satisfaction from the Explorer, so she didn't feel guilty.

_So caught up in our petty struggles that we didn't even remember Lissandra's tactical skill,_ Katarina thought. _The fuck? I thought Jarvan was smarter than that. _

The moody Demacian Prince stood to her right, head bowed. His lips – dry and chapped - moved soundlessly. She wondered briefly what he was thinking – probably berating himself for falling prey to one of the oldest traps in the history of warfare.

_Or praying to one of his precious battle saints. I doubt any of them would save his stupid ass. _

Kat stretched her muscles, rolling her elbows and knees, feeling her supple body begin to coil with tension.

"Come out unarmed!" someone brayed. From the accent, Kat guessed it was a villager. He sounded just as scared as she should have felt.

This was followed by the sound of two horns.

She looked to Jarvan again, who sighed. Tryndamere scratched his chin and shrugged. The barbarian king rested his heavy arm across Ashe's shoulders. "They're getting rowdy. Have we a plan?"

"We won't be able to fight their forces. I suggest we allow ourselves to be captured." Jarvan scanned their faces warily to see if they agreed.

Katarina understood his hesitation. There were tales of prisoners killing each other in captivity, then blaming the death on their captors. Though Noxus and Demacia were still at peace, Katarina and Jarvan…weren't.

_And they call Noxians the cruel ones. After what Jarvan did to Soraka?_

"Katarina?" Jarvan said softly. His gray-green eyes sought hers in the dim light. For a moment, Katarina felt the world sway around her. This man – the scared looking one before her – was the embodiment of Demacia's hopes and dreams. Him, with the webs around his eyes and the dark stubble on his chin. "Do you agree? I welcome your counsel."

"I agree. For now. We'll see what we can do once we're in custody." Like being trapped, being captured was something she was used to. She felt an echo of eager lips and hands and teeth on her skin. Whatever the Demacian forces said about themselves, they were just as rough and aggressive as the Noxians. But she had come to accept the repeated sexual assaults as part of being a pretty girl in the military, and shrugged them off.

Hell, sometimes she welcomed them. They made the men (and women, sometimes) tired and easily killed.

"What are we to do about Erinae and Jayce?" Varadi murmured.

Jarvan's glance at Katarina was quick, but she caught the naked fear in it anyways. The Prince's usual confidence was slipping.

_Of course it is. He isn't used to fighting for entire days. He's tired. Struggling. In Demacia, you go to war then go home. The two are separate. In Noxus, you leave the war to go to another war, a thousand of them..._

"We'll leave Jayce and Erinae behind," she said. "They'll know to go to Angel's Crossing when we're gone. Ryland and Ezreal are on their way, too. And Ryland will be able to find me."

She took Jarvan by the elbow. It was customary practice when one was banding with their enemy. It supposedly prevented them from drawing their sword. The Prince's muscles tensed beneath her touch.

The edges of her mouth quirked. "Shall we meet them?"

Moving slowly, elegantly, Katarina led her companions through the door, into the night. The cool air was choked with woodsmoke and the hairy scent of troll.

Kat's senses snapped to alertness and began communing with the evening. Her skin and mind buzzed with possibilities of action. Her pupils fully dilated, drinking in the faintest light.

_If it were just the townspeople, we could take them. But the trolls…_

There were about forty of them standing silently, their frames as unbreakable as slabs of stone. Kat knew from experience that it would take more than one blade to get through their hides.

The man from the cross was formidable, too. He stood as tall as Jarvan but had broader shoulders. Even in the dim flame of the torches, Kat could see the unhealthy yellow of his eyes.

_ Huh. Wonder if Erinae knows him._

Kat and Jarvan came to a halt before him. The night was silent.

The man sneered. "To think, after all these years, Noxus and Demacia are bedfellows."

Jarvan started to say something, remembered Kat's grip on his arm, and stopped.

"Still," the man continued, "This conflict does not concern us. Soon only the Freljord will stand. Noxus and Demacia will be frozen tombs.

_Sure. Haven't heard that one before, _Kat thought. Though irritating, his opening words had given Kat a key to his weaknesses. Which was nice, but unnecessary. She was used to using lockpicks.

She subtly rearranged her features to look slightly afraid. "Where are you taking us? I demand to know!"

_That sounded a little fake. Fuck. It's been a while._

She silently cleared her throat and tried again, enjoying the feel of Jarvan's arm quivering beneath her hand. "Swain will never let you get away with this! Noxus will roll into Freljord and crush its armies beneath our crimson sword!"

_I sound like Ashe. Gotta remember to practice my impressions when I get home._

Predictably, the tall man bent down and cupped her cheek. His lips almost brushed hers. She could smell the remnants of ash on his breath. "You're all to be taken alive to her Majesty."

"Alive?" Kat whispered. The man couldn't see it, but a catlike smile was spreading over her features. Her fingers slowly crept to the dagger tucked in her waistband. She felt Jarvan clench his teeth. How many Demacians had she slaughtered like this? She didn't even remember.

"Yes, alive. The punishment we could inflict here is nothing compared to her Majesty Lissa –"

His words were overwhelmed by a tide of blood, filling the narrow channel of his throat.

And, as always, Katarina felt that collective gasp, that brief suspension of time. Like the movements of her blades, the moment was part of the unholy dance.

The man collapsed, his bulk hurting towards her and Jarvan. Kat distantly felt blood stain her white fingers.

She released the Prince. Four more blades were at her fingertips.

The Freljordians drew their swords and bows.

Katarina had time for three thoughts before the circle of men and troll devoured them.

_Who tells their captives that they're being taken alive?_

_ Who in icy Hell tells us to come out unarmed, then doesn't immediately frisk us? _

The last thought was a picture, a vivid portrait in storm-colors. She saw Ryland's face – his high cheekbones, dark hair, and pale skin flushed with rosy affection. Yearning brushed against her heart like hummingbird wings.

The sensation gave her pause.

_I've never really missed anyone before. Maybe I'm becoming too soft. _

Then she rammed a knife into the chest of a troll, and stopped worrying about it.

* * *

Zandred Claren of Zaun had never been a warlike man. He didn't understand the least thing about combat – how to do it, why one did it, its goal. To him, even the best of swordfighting looked like two children slapping at each other.

That's why he made a poor Summoner, but a great leader. He always thought he would never have violent desires.

Until now. His political skills no longer mattered to him.

He wished he knew combat. He wished he was a fighter.

He wanted to beat the sense out of Shyvana, Lux, Garen, Ezreal, Darius, Swain, Ryland, Katarina and a few others whose names he couldn't remember at the moment. Seeing the living room of the Demacian Quarters destroyed – drenched with fire and torched with water – filled him with icy rage, anger so cold it numbed his nose and fingertips.

He could only stand by the open door gaping. His mouth closed and opened mechanically. Nami reached a soothing hand towards his shoulder. He batted it away.

"Don't touch me."

The Tidecaller flinched backwards, towards Lulu, her eyes betraying her hurt. Zandred didn't care.

"What happened this time? Oh, I suppose it doesn't matter anyways, but at this point I'm simply curious. What happened? Did Ezreal blowup and die?"

"Ezreal's not here, Venerable Summoner," Taric said quietly.

Zandred uttered a short, sharp laugh. "Ha! How could I forget? You're right. So was it Ryland? Did Ryland's homosexuality finally overwhelm nature? Did nature finally give up?"

Oh, those weren't the words he wanted. He wanted them to be witty and insightful. He sounded stupid.

Swain looked at Darius tiredly. Darius nodded sympathetically. Turning to Zandred, he said, "Ryland is also not present, Zandred. I believe you need to take a few breaths."

"Every time I breathe something else goes awry," Zandred said bitterly. "And my little apprentice isn't here to help."

"Jatt and Turley are here." Taric massaged his temples. "And I suppose I can help as well."

"I wish Soraka was here instead of you." Zandred squinted. "She's much better at this. For instance, why isn't anyone giving Garen medical attention? Or helping Shyvana find clothes?"

Taric was immediately distracted from Zandred's insults. "At once, Venerable Summoner. Nami, Lulu." They followed him in to the wreckage. Lulu looked fearfully over her shoulder at the angry Summoner.

Swain sighed. "Do you really need to resort to insulting the Supports, of all things? You're behaving like a Novice."

"Novices don't have to deal with the crumbling of an Institution."

"Venerable Summoner, the Institute isn't crumbling," Darius said. He looked through the door of the Quarters, and found himself wondering idly what Katarina was doing. "I'm afraid Lux is going to miscarry."

Zandred pressed a shaky hand to his temples. "Mis…carry?"

"She's pregnant." Swain's brow furrowed. "Surely you knew this. She's finally gained enough weight to look healthy, for the gods' sake."

"With Jarvan's child?" Zandred's eyes pleaded with Darius and Swain to reassure him that Demacia, too, wasn't going to crack.

Darius winced. "I'm unsure. I'm sure my son knows, though."

"At least it can't be Ryland's. I'm not sure he could bed a woman." Zandred's teeth gritted. Darius itched to slap him – the gay jokes were grating on his nerves.

Some deeper, unspoken part of him realized he had a new reason to hate Demacia. They were excluding Ryland from their numbers, teasing him because they knew he was half Noxian.

_Terribly mature of them. They're all such…children._

"Venerable Summoner, I suppose it would be helpful to entertain the notion that the child is not Jarvan's," Swain said carefully.

"Helpful? Swain – Sir Swain – or whatever your title is. Nothing is 'helpful' at this point."

"What about our allegiance with Demacia?" Darius interjected. "Neither party wants the Institute to fall. As of now, the only territories in conflict are located in Freljord, and we've sent forces to investigate that."

Zandred frowned and cocked his head. "Is there really a truce? That's very odd."

"It's the purpose of this thrice-damned gameroom, isn't it?" Darius raised his eyebrows in exasperation.

Zandred looked over his shoulder and leaned in closer. "Is it – temporary?"

"We haven't had talks about that yet." Swain grabbed the Venerable Summoner's shoulder. Without Beatrice on his side, the old General quickly became cranky. "And it's most likely none of your business, Zandred Claren _of Zaun_."

"Maybe unwanted pregnancies do solve problems. Bastard children," Zandred whispered. "Like Michael. Or Ryland, rather."

Used to all manner of insults, Darius felt the Venerable Summoner's words roll off of him like rainwater.

Ryland was a bastard child, wasn't he? There were probably more than a few, sprinkled among the conquered Outskirts of Demacia like dew.

_It might be interesting to meet them all_, Darius thought. _I enjoy Ryland's company. _

Then he remembered that in the Outskirts, if a woman was thought to be with Noxian child, they were slaughtered. He had killed them one way or another.

"Well, at least Lux and Ezreal's child will be very bright," Swain muttered. "Pun very much intended. Look, Zandred. You should really look into getting yourself under control. If the League falls apart at this point, it is your doing."

"That's not going to help," Darius muttered.

"Think of it like your own bastard child," Swain said, gesturing with his cane. "One that you feed with love."

Darius hid a smile. Swain angry was terrifying, but Swain annoyed was rather funny. It reminded him of their battles long ago, before they'd risen to positions equivalent of King and Prince in Noxus.

"That's not going to help either."

"Darius, damnit. I'm a General, not a babysitter. You help him, then."

"No, no, keep going. I'm sure you'll hit on something sooner or later."

Zandred stood, head bowed. Darius was no reader of emotion, but figured that tears were leaking from his eyes to his cheeks. He had seen many in that pose before, succumbing to his force, to their fate.

"Look, he's crying. I'm horrible at this." Swain rolled his eyes. "Alas. Taric has me beaten in one arena."

"In many, sir. He's much more stylish. Have you seen his latest armor? It's pink."

Swain covered his face. "Good gods, Darius. What a mess this is."

"Now you sound like him."

"You're right. And I shouldn't." Swain watched Zandred's shoulders shake with sobs before he tapped Darius' back with his walking stick. "Help him! What are you doing?"

"…Are you serious, sir?"

"As serious as the grave."

Their eyes met, and Darius had to stem the tide of his mirth. He shuffled awkwardly towards the Venerable Summoner.

"Ummm. There. There." Darius patted Zandred's shoulder.

"With more feeling, Darius!"

"Sir, please."

"You'd be a terrible father."

"You'd be correct."

"Try again."

Darius thought he heard Zandred snuffle, possibly with laughter. He placed his enormous palm on Zandred's head. "It will be okay…?"

"Good lord. He's terrible, isn't he, Zandred."

Zandred uttered a muffled laugh, wiped his nose on his sleeve like a schoolboy, and sighed. "You're both correct. I must regain my composure."

"Yes. And once you do the Institute will have full faith in you." Swain nodded sagely.

"I know better than to make you two healers." Zandred sighed. "Though I thank you."

"Of course. Now, I suppose you should check on those bumbling Demacians."

"Right." Zandred darted past both of them without a glance backwards.

Darius saw Swain's smile from the corner of his eye. "You come off as a creaky grandpa."

"You are the only person who could say that and live," Swain replied. "Unless it was Taric. I know better than to kill my better."

Darius snorted.

* * *

"I can't keep fighting like this!" Ashe cried. Kat saw her get knocked over and dragged to the edges of the fray by two trolls, still struggling and squirming.

Tryndamere roared and swung his blade at her captors. One of them gripped his wrist and bent it backwards. Kat thought she saw a piece of bone protruding through his flesh.

Seeing his barbarian king defeated, Varadi quickly dropped his weapon and held his arms upward. Sejuani did the same.

Kat scowled at the darkness, weaving and moving among the ranks of trolls.

They were losing. She'd lost battles before, but not many. Panic swelled inside her, the wave cresting in her chest.

The picture of Ryland was there, occupying her mind. She fought it away before she remembered that he'd charged the totem tucked in-between her breasts.

_Probably some weird psychic energy exchange. Hell if I know. It's distracting as fuck, though. _

"Kat!" Jarvan said urgently. He was at her side. She was glad he'd warned her, because he'd nearly ended up with a knife between his eyes. "We should resume the original plan."

Kat lowered her knives. Her opponents still stood in a circle, unsure of how to progress. "It's so…inconvenient."

"We're all exhausted. You would be alone on the battlefield. And they might decide that the death of one prisoner is worth the rest alive." Jarvan rested his hands on his knees, panting harshly. His rib-muscles were spasming. His eyes were wide and blank.

"Are you gonna be alright, Jarvo?"

Jarvan coughed. Katarina hesitated, then cast her blades to the ground. The men and trolls moved in to take her and Jarvan into custody. She barely felt the knotted leather strips around her wrists, or the rough, eager hands who tied her.

Her captor whirled her around to face him. His blonde hair dangled in his eyes. The same glowing eyes as Erinae. "You bitch! You killed Adward!"

"He had a stupid name."

He slapped her, hard. Katarina didn't flinch.

One of the trolls grabbed the man by his neck. "Don't harm them. You'll die."

"She killed so many of us!" the man cried.

"Guess you're not used to warfare, eh?" Katarina laughed. He would probably be the one to take her tonight, but he probably had a small dick.

Then again, she didn't know. He had a lean, muscular build, like an ocelot.

"You stupid, stupid bitch. You –" The man stopped and simply stood in front of her, gasping.

Katarina felt a faint echo of sympathy and shoved it away. _Dammit, Ryland. So touchy feely._

"So, where are you taking us?" Jarvan asked, sounding mildly interested. He had trolls to hold him back instead of the scrawny human. Interesting, given that Kat was the better fighter.

"Freljord. Fucking Freljord. I don't even live there."

"Ian, be silent," the main troll growled. Katarina didn't think it was Trundle.

"Is that Jarvan?" Ian strode up to the Prince. Jarvan, too, didn't flinch when the boy's hand struck his cheek. He looked faintly bemused.

"Ian!" The main troll shook his head. "Boy, if you weren't adept at fighting, you'd've been killed by now."

The relief that the combat had stopped was clear from the trolls' posture. At last they could relax.

"I like this guy," Kat said. She grinned. "He seems like a real Noxian."

"I'm Demacian, you creep."

"Not with those crazy eyes," Kat retorted. Her arms were getting that familiar ache from being tied up.

_This happens too much. I should retire. _

"Well, hitting the Prince is a punishable act of treason," Jarvan muttered. He carefully sat down and closed his eyes. A troll brought a cask of water and put it to Jarvan's lips.

_Oh, so it's that kind of "captured." We're going to get pampered and then Lissandra will have to deal with us. _

"It's not treason if you're sitting your happy ass in Freljord," Ian snarled.

Kat chuckled. "This is going to be so much fun. I'm excited."

"You won't be when her Majesty has to deal with you," the main troll said. He didn't sound so sure.

"Lissandra? Please. I've fought her hundreds of time in mid lane. I usually win."

"She'll end your – ah, who am I kidding." The troll harrumphed. "She's not been very polite to our forces, lately."

"What do you mean?" Katarina asked, eyes glimmering. She saw Jarvan perk up.

"Lately she's preferred the machines," the troll to her right grunted.

"I mean, I like machines too. Especially when men get too tiresome." The trolls were silent. Then one of them cracked up, and the rest around her laughed. It sounded more like animals grunting. Encouraged, she said, "Maybe she won't be as frigid when she's done with them."

She saw Jarvan smile slightly. The fuzz on his chin and his lean frame lent him a wolflike look. Especially when one factored in those forest-tinted eyes…

_Damn. He's even more famous than Jayce. _

And wouldn't that be a huge dash of notoriety. Sure, she'd slept with Darius and Ezreal and Darius' kid (which was weird to think about, but it didn't bother her). But Jarvan…

_He's kinda cute when he doesn't act like he has a stick up his ass. _

Chortling along with her captors, she leaned back against the troll holding her. Ineffective guards, a hot Prince and an angry Freljordian Queen?

_Count me in. This is gonna be great. _


	21. Left Behind

_N.B. Hello, readers. I apologize for the infrequent updates. Unfortunately, academia falls quite heavily on my shoulders, and deadlines draw on apace. This story is also massive, so forgive me for my wordiness. _

_Thank you all for being so loyal (no matter how many times I say it, I can't stress it enough). The next three chapters should be done in fairly rapid succession. I hope you enjoy them and, again - feel free to contact me with your feedback on the story, or things you'd wish to be added. _

* * *

Erinae peeped out the window, carefully, to hide any traces of her glowing eyes. Jayce was sitting beside her, staring into the gloom of their room blankly. She admired how unafraid he seemed.

_Well, he is the Defender of Tomorrow. I just hope there's more tomorrows to defend._

"They're gone."

Jayce stirred. He glanced at Soraka. Her eyes were still tightly shut, but her breathing was more regular now, coming and going in easy gusts. With his small knowledge of healing, Jayce guessed she was in some sort of recovery trance. Best not to disturb her.

"Who's gone?"

Erinae shrugged uneasily. "The trolls and the townspeople. And Kat. And Jarvan."

Jayce's shoulders slumped. "They took them, then."

"Yep." Erinae wet her lips. Her canines brushed the bottom one. She thought she could still taste a trace of the Defender on them. "So, what do we do?"

Jayce furrowed his brow in thought, leaving Erinae to study the curve of his jaw and the five o' clock shadow clinging to it. "We should move soon, before the townspeople realize we're still here."

"Or the other troops," Erinae added. "Though it doesn't look like they're coming back for us."

"They might not be." Jayce's small laugh turned into a cough. "In Lissandra's eyes, as much as it sucks to say it, we're probably not all that important."

"Why does that suck to say?"

Jayce scratched his head. "Everyone wants to be important."

"Not me." Erinae grinned.

"Well, yeah. You're pretty different." Jayce smiled, then ducked his head to hide it. "But we do have a problem. What -"

"What are we going to do about Soraka?" Erinae finished. "Yeah, no clue. Can you carry her? I'd make a joke about Summoner's Rift, but I don't think that's appropriate right now."

"Can I ask you a serious question?"

"As Zandred would say, 'You just did.'"

"What are you?"

Erinae shifted uncomfortably. "You asked that earlier. I told you I don't know."

Jayce leaned towards her. "I'm not Ryland, but I'm pretty sure you're lying. Listen – if you just tell me, maybe that knowledge can help us get out of here without getting roasted. Alright, kiddo?" Erinae hesitated. Jayce took her gently by the shoulders. "Not to call you a weirdo, but I don't know any full humans with eyes like Piltover's electricity and teeth like a piranha."

That got her to grin. _There you go, kid. That makes you look much better. And less fucking terrifying, _Jayce thought. When she was making no expression, Erinae's feral face took on a predatory look that spooked him just as much as the trolls did.

"I don't know. Like I said. It's – hereditary? Is that the right word?"

"Passed down from parent to child?"

"Yeah."

Something snapped outside their door. Erinae drew breath in in a large, cold gasp. It felt like the whole of the night air was filling her stomach. Jayce bit his knuckles.

Their door rattled. Jayce slowly crept towards his Mercury Hammer and froze when he heard voices.

"They must've barricaded the door before they left," Amanita, the owner of the inn, said irritably.

"Goddernit. We have to go in there." That voice must have belonged to one of the surviving townsmen. He had probably run away from the fight.

"Else what, Jo? We get killed?" Amanita cawed laughter. "Mebbe join the rest of our kin?"

The other voice sighed. "We should still go in there 'ventually."

"There's a good boy. My old bosom's going straight to sleep."

Jayce and Erinae exchanged terrified looks, which terrified Jayce even more because Erinae's shining eyes made her look like a jackal.

"They're leaving," she whispered. "I can hear them going."

"What _are _you?" he whispered hoarsely.

"I don't know!"

"Shhh!" Jayce clapped a large hand over her mouth, shuddering when he felt her exposed canines touch his palms.

They waited. Nothing save Soraka's steady breathing. The sound was comforting, somehow. Jayce idly reflected that the healer did her job, even when she was asleep.

Jayce released his breath in a gusty sigh. "So you were saying?"

"When we come of age in my family, we go through bodily changes like everyone else," Erinae began. Jayce knew she was reciting something. Probably the fucked up consolation her parents gave her. "Only on top of bigger boobs and all that crap, we get really good hearing and eyesight –"

"And fangs," Jayce reminded her.

"Fangs and balance." Her voice cracked slightly.

"And glowing eyes."

"Yeah, yeah." Erinae sniffled. "I know."

"I think it's werecat. Emphasis on the cat part." Jayce ran a tired, grimy hand through his hair and sighed again. "Ezreal would probably know. If his brain isn't fried by now."

"How come no one asks him what he is?" Erinae said suddenly. Jayce felt another sting of alarm when he saw that tears were rolling down her cheeks.

_ Great. Captors, comatose healers, enemy territory and a crying 15-year-old girl._

Jayce shook himself. His inner voice…it didn't sound much like him at all.

_The Skelgarn. Oh, gods._

"Listen. Come here." Fighting his revulsion, he pulled Erinae against his chest and cradled her. He felt the hot tears soaking through his shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm just stressed."

"You're – you're _scared_ of me."

"Not anymore." Jayce held her tighter. And it was true. He wondered fleetingly – with a mind that had too little sleep and too much stimulation – if his fear and nausea had been caused by Lissandra's corruption. He thought it was.

"We're gonna get through this," he murmured into her hair. "We gotta be brave."

"I'm sorry too." She pulled away and looked up at him with golden eyes. "For being a pussy."

"Was that – that was a pun." Jayce smacked his forehead. "Gods."

She dried her tears on her own sleeve and snickered. "So do we have a plan yet? I was just buying you time with my caterwauling."

"The first plan is to stop with the cat jokes –"

"Never."

"The second is to try and wake Soraka up." He looked at her. Now it was easy to meet those otherworldly eyes. "We've got this."

"Mhm." Erinae's eyes twinkled - half tears, half merriment. "I'm ready."


	22. Lightbringer (Part One)

_Two Weeks Later_

Though he was still alone with Ezreal in the wilderness, Ryland no longer felt at peace.

The terrain was shifting into densely wooded pine forests as they traveled northward. Tiny white flowers dotted the moss clinging to the base of the trees. Occasionally Ezreal broke off a branch to mark their path, releasing the lonely fragrance of sap.

The air tasted of snow. Ezreal's jacket had been lost in the blaze his first Storm had created. Ryland gave him his coat at first – insisted on it – until Ezreal shrugged it off irritably.

"It's freezing! I'm in layers and I feel like I'm dying."

Ezreal's laugh was rich with bitterness. He was loping along, shirtless, despite the icy rime of frost on the ground. His bare toes were a healthy peach color. "Can't you see I'm burning up?"

Ryland's heart kicked against his chest. "Never say that again."

"It's true, isn't it?" Ezreal gestured to himself. "You can see it."

"No." Ryland shook his head and whispered to himself. "Stop. Please."

Ezreal jogged away, still not shivering. His voice rang through the wintry woods. "Just accept it, Ryland!"

Ryland put his hand over his chest. There was always an ache there now. It felt like emptiness, acid and fire.

He couldn't find the source. Surely it wasn't heartbreak – no one's heart could break for this long and still remain intact.

What Ezreal had said was true. Every day, it seemed, the Explorer's aura grew brighter and brighter. It had made Ryland squint at first, but he'd finally adjusted to it. His corneas and pupils were probably damaged until he got a chance to heal them. He practically couldn't see anything besides Ezreal anymore.

Ezreal was ablaze, more radiant than the sun. At night, he rivaled their massive bonfires.

While the two of them had resigned themselves to the Overflow before, the growing power of the Standard Power gradually made them realize that Ezreal was going to die if something didn't interfere.

Ryland was totally at a loss. Ezreal was, too, though he seemed less concerned about his own life. He had tried virtually everything – sleeping all day, not sleeping at all, eating less, eating more.

He tried cardio exercises, but after five jumping jacks, his power erupted into a Storm. The flare exploded through the quiet forest, alighting hundreds of tiny fires and killing more than a few small creatures. Ryland had shielded his eyes just in time, or else he would have been blinded.

When the light finally faded, Ryland saw Ezreal lying on his stomach, smiling wistfully. His aura, if anything, was even brighter.

Ryland fell to his knees beside him, ignoring the pine needles nipping into his skin. His chest was heaving. He wasn't crying, but he couldn't breathe. At last he managed one word. "Why?"

"I don't know," Ezreal said calmly. "I probably shouldn't try that again, though."

Since then, for about two weeks, Ryland and Ezreal had been trying to ignore the Overflow, skirting around the subject as well as they could.

During that time, even as the aura around him expanded, Ezreal's personality grew colder and colder. He didn't talk as much, was faster to anger.

And Ryland had put up with it because he loved him. He knew Ezreal would've died by now without his care. Sometimes the Explorer went into dazes that lasted for two or three hours, and only came out of them at the sound of Ryland's clarinet. And he'd often forgotten to eat.

But now Ryland felt something inside of him finally crack. He wasn't going to sit and watch Ezreal burn through his body like kindling wood. Dropping their pack, he ran towards him.

He found him a little ways off, sitting beside a clear lake in a small opening in the woods.

The scenery was breathtaking – or perhaps that was the jogging. The snowy white cliffs signaling their entry into the Freljord loomed high above them. Ryland tilted his head back to see the peaks, but they were lost among the thin gray clouds.

Angel's Crossing was nearby, perched on the edge of the first mountain. Time was growing short.

Ezreal dipped his toes into the water. The lake's water was so that Ryland could see the pebbly bottom. Not that deep. But probably still cold.

He collapsed beside Ezreal, pulling his knees to his chest. "We have to do something."

"Well, we're sitting," Ezreal mused. He picked up a smooth stone and skipped it across the lake with one fluid movement. He'd had a lot of practice.

"No! The Overflow."

Ezreal fixed him with an icy glare. "Why can't you just understand that we can't do anything? Why is that so hard? You can't save me."

"Shut up!" Ryland hesitated, then slapped Ezreal across the cheek. His hand made a soft _phwoosh_ sound as it penetrated the aura. The strike lacked power because Ryland was cold and hungry. Ezreal didn't move, his steely glare unwavering.

"We can do something. I just don't know why I didn't think of it before. Just listen to me." Ryland stopped, gasping for air. The ache in his chest was particularly strong. "Listen."

Ezreal eyed him skeptically. "Sure. I'll hear it. Not like we have anything else to do out here."

Ryland tried to breathe. "Give me your power. Transfer some of it."

"What?" The Explorer's gaze softened, the first time it'd done so in days. "Ryland – I'm not going to kill you too."

"Just do it."

"You'll die –"

"I don't _care_!" The shout surprised him and Ezreal, and sent a wave of tiny birds fluttering from the branches behind them. Shivering, Ryland continued, "You think I care about Runeterra? The Institute? Zandred? I don't care about them at all. Let Lissandra bury the world in ice. Let them all become ice sculptures. I don't care about them, and I definitely don't care what happens to me."

Ezreal touched his forearm. "Ryland –"

"No!" he said shrilly. He fought to lower his voice. "No, Ezreal. I'm not going to watch you die before my eyes. You're burning out. I sense it."

"You do?" Ezreal snatched his feet from the water. "I – I'm feeling mostly fine."

"You're damaging your body. You're eroding it." Ryland wiped his chapped lips against his sleeve. "Eventually your aura's going to take your body for fuel. I'm not going to let it."

Ezreal was silent. Ryland could hear his aura now. It sounded like a sail flapping lazily in the wind.

"Do you want the others to see you like this? They were already terrified. What about Lux? You're going to leave her with that – that dickhead Jarvan?" The swear stumbled over his healer's tongue.

"Alright, enough. You don't need to guilt me." Ezreal looked at him uneasily. "But…I don't know what's going to happen with this. We could just simultaneously short out."

"Then at least I'll have tried," Ryland retorted. "No one will say that Runeterra died on my watch."

"I thought you didn't care about Runeterra," Ezreal said softly. He smiled. "You're just saying whatever you can to get me to do this."

"Yep."

"Fine. So, how do we go about this transfer of energy?"

"We've done it before, subconsciously. It can't be that difficult."

"After all the healing you've done? Yeah, sure."

Ryland felt a bit of the emptiness in his chest ebb away. He was starting to sound like he had before the Overflow, before this mess.

"Umm…Hold out your hand."

"You have to hold my hand?" Ezreal snorted. "I'm glad you have a girlfriend."

"The gay jokes. Not you, too. I hear them enough." But Ryland didn't feel angry at all. "We should probably just hug."

"Now you're just making excuses."

"Maybe." Ryland grinned wolfishly. There was hope. A tiny, fluttery spark of hope. "Come here, you brute."

Ezreal hesitated, then edged closer to Ryland, who pulled him against his chest. The aura washed over both of them in slow, warm, pulsing waves. The chill in Ryland's digits eased.

He fumbled around in his mind for what to do. Then he felt it – a small link between his and Ezreal's mind.

"This would be easier to do if we had a physical connection," he muttered.

"Nice try, Ryland." Ezreal shook his head. The days of _whatever you want, Ryland_ were over, burned away.

Ryland struggled, chipping away at Ezreal's mental barrier. The aura was like a forcefield – it kept away the Skelgarn, but was almost impenetrable.

The he realized he wouldn't want a continuous flow of energy between them. Ezreal's suspicion that they would both flare out simultaneously was probably true. Their combined forces had caused an aurora, once, after all – the ultimate expression of Pulsefire energy.

_Does Silver and Yellow make Blue? I don't think so, but who knows._

He felt the Explorer shiver.

"You're a fucking block of ice."

"Shut up, kid."

"Kid?" Ezreal tilted his head back. "What –"

Ryland saw his opportunity and took it. He hurriedly pressed his lips to Ezreal's throat and drew his breath in. A part of Ezreal's aura filled him, barreling down his throat. It tasted like morning sun and apple cider. It filled the emptiness in his chest entirely, replacing the chill with autumnal warmth.

Ryland pulled away. He was scared to open his eyes.

He felt Ezreal relax. "Wow. You've got some skills, Ryland."

Bracing himself, he opened his eyes. Ezreal's met his.

The Explorer's aura was still visible, true, but it was definitely dimmer and smaller. It lay close to his skin. Instead of a dark gold, it was the color of daffodils.

Ryland realized that the sight caused him boundless relief now, but would've inspired panic a month ago. "You're okay."

Ezreal snorted. "You're not."

"What?"

"Look at your hands."

Ryland did, and felt his gorge rise.

A pale silver flame danced over his fingers. As he watched, it slowly spread up his arms, enveloping his chest and legs. Probably his head as well – he couldn't see that part.

Ezreal extricated himself, his blue eyes filled with sympathy, his smile sorrowful. "Look. Look in the lake."

Ryland leaned over, peering into the water. His reflection wavered.

His aura was the color of moonlight, accenting the gray in his gray-green eyes, emphasizing his dark features.

"Oh."

"Welcome to my life," Ezreal said softly. He shook his head. "There, are you happy?"

"Yes. Very. Look – you're going to be alright. That's amazing, Ezreal. I don't think you understand."

"What if you Storm, now? What's going to happen?" Ezreal said suddenly. "You're Empath. If I Storm, it just destroys shit. But if you Storm? You could probably wipe out thousands of peoples' minds."

Ryland ignored him. The liquid fire stopped growing lighter and darker; it stayed the chilly gray hue of the Freljord dawn.

His mind seemed to expand somehow, growing from a tiny sliver until it encompassed the entire sky. He could hear pine needles crunching beneath the hooves of nervous deer, catch the echo of cougars' predatory desires. Every rustle of insect or trembling breath of wind danced across his nerve endings, sending brilliant sensations down his spine.

And Ezreal –

_He's a key. Something lying on the border between universes. _

Then Ryland blinked, and the world returned to normal. It was still harshly beautiful, but not nearly as colorful as it had been seconds before.

His companion was staring at him with a guarded expression, hand held up protectively.

Ryland blinked again. "Wow."

"You just Overflowed. Or Stormed."

"That was amazing." Ryland smiled dazedly and saw Ezreal scowl.

"Yours didn't hurt?"

"Nope." He scooped up a handful of water and splashed it against his face. The water crashed over him, bringing a million memories of the creatures and people who had drank it, and the mysterious realms it had come from long ago, borne on rain clouds.

_I feel like I'm a citizen of the galaxy. _

"Ryland?" Ezreal was shaking him. "I knew it. You're going to die."

"No, no." Ryland laughed delightedly, his tiredness and hungriness washed away with sensation. "It just reminds me of how I felt before I could control my powers. I read everyone's thoughts on accident. But…" Ryland studied his reflection, watching the aura's rippling silver danced with the muted sparkle of the water.

"But?" Ezreal prompted. Behind Ez's anger, Ryland sensed his concern. That he and the Explorer were connected again brought another cresting wave of joy.

"But it was bigger. I could see time."

"Gods," Ezreal muttered, disgusted. "My aura sets things on fire and yours makes you high. Could you really see time?"

"Most good healers can see a little into the future. Karma's really good at it." Saying her name hit Ryland with a pang of homesickness. "This was different though. Not so much time as – as different dimensions, maybe. And you're beautiful in all of them."

"You sound like a mad scientist. Trust me, I've met plenty from Piltover and Zaun." Ezreal snorted.

Ryland again ignored him, still transfixed by their reflections. "We look like the sun and the moon."

Ez glanced into the lake. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It doesn't mean anything, though."

Ryland started. "Wasn't Varadi telling us about something? Or one of the songs he sang – one definitely dealt with a glowing person. Glowing gold."

Ezreal closed his eyes and put his head on his knees. Without that impressive furnace billowing around him, he looked weak, vulnerable. Like a lion without his mane.

"There are tales in every culture about glowing people," he muttered. "They're from when older tribes saw people Overflow. The magic they could do. But it doesn't matter, Ryland."

"But what about fate? Doesn't this feel like fate to you?"

Ezreal blinked. Now that the roar of static in his head had finally quieted – the wound on his chest had nearly healed – other thoughts and emotions were creeping in.

He suddenly craved Lux. He wanted her body. He wanted to take her to a nice restaurant and sit on a balcony in the lavender twilight, and talk about all of this over lingering glasses of wine. He wanted to see her wear his favorite dark blue dress.

But all he had was Ryland, and the forest's dark, quiet spaces instead of Lux's warm laughter.

"What _about_ fate, Ryland? It doesn't exist."

"Do you remember what happened when you died?"

"No, I don't. And you wouldn't tell me."

"We met your father. Ian of Piltover. The one who made the Pulsefire hurricane. It lasted for weeks. Then we –"

"Made the aurora. You're not making any sense." _And you're starting to scare me. A lot. _"I'm not a deity, Ryland."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but –"

"You fit the criteria. You're more powerful than anyone could've imagined. You've withstood Standard Alpha Overflow longer than humanly possible. If that happened to anyone else, they'd die within an hour!" Ryland snapped up straight. "What if bringing you back made you immortal?"

Ezreal shuddered. "I'll – I'll end up like Lissandra."

"I hope it's true. But it would be amazing – you'd live through the ages –"

"Do you know what happens to immortal people?" Ezreal leaned towards Ryland, eyes smoldering with anger. "They go mad because every person they love dies. Don't you ever wish that on me again."

Silence reigned, broken only for the birds piping sadly into the frosty air.

"I'm sorry." Ryland looked away.

Ezreal sighed harshly. Darkness was beginning to steal over the silk-gray sky. Even if he didn't feel cold, Ezreal knew his body was growing stiff and numb. He watched his and Ryland's auras gleaming against the dusk.

"It's okay. I understand. It's the magic, and we've been wandering the wilderness without a hot meal for days."

Ryland cocked his head. "Speaking of which, I hear something."

"Hmmm?"

"Freljordians. A group of them. Hunting party headed towards us. They'll be here in seven minutes."

Ezreal struggled to stand up, but his knees wavered. Weakness overtook him. His body, so used to coping with his solar flare, was overwhelmed at last. Ryland caught him.

"What do we do now?"

"Wait, I guess. It's not like we can do anything, right?" Far away, a few twigs snapped. Ryland laughed. They'd faced so many problems, there was nothing else to do but laugh. "Gods. I hope you've brushed up on your Freljordian."

"They'll kill us," Ezreal said numbly. He stared up at the Freljordian sky, watching the wispy cirrus clouds float by. A few black birds fluttered past him.

"We'll see."

To pass the time, Ryland fixed his eyes on the slope to their east. Orange light seemed to sugar-coat the snow.

So lost was he in the view that he almost forgot the band of barbarians approaching until their scout saw him and Ezreal.

Ryland heard this newcomer's intake of breath. Their eyes met.

This man, unlike Varadi, had whitish-blond hair and eerily green eyes. "Aitah!" he barked over his shoulder, his gaze never leaving Ryland. Ezreal struggled out of his grasp once more and hurriedly made the Southern Freljord's standard of peace. He knelt on one knee, left palm spread wide, head bowed, eyes closed.

Unable to imitate it in time, Ryland settled for the Demacian standard – his left fist to his right shoulder.

Since his eyes were closed, he used his mind to scope the newcomers out. His inner vision was more vivid than ever, rich in detail and strange color.

But instead of seeing the Freljordians as people, he saw them as white bears and caribou and deer and wolves. There were fifty of them, far too many for he and Ezreal to consider fighting.

He waited and listened as they called to one another. That same word – _Aitah, Aitah_ – was thrown from person to person.

_Someone's name? _

_No. That's what they call their chiefs. It means Noble Wings, _Ezreal responded tiredly.

Ryland felt the hair on his nape rise as the Aitah's feet crunched on the pebbles where they sat. In Ryland's mind, the Aitah was a tall wolf, his fur like the silvery ripples of the lake, with glass-blue eyes.

"Ta-Aikah," the man rumbled. "Kir te?"

"No," Ezreal responded, not moving anything but his lips. "Demacian?"

A long pause. Ryland could feel them exchanging glances.

"Yes," the Aitah said at last. "I suppose my mother was right. I would not _oritaia – _regret my schooling."

"My apologies, but my Northwestern dialect is a bit rough."

"No matter, Aven Lightbringer. You can and shoulder arise, as should Skylan."

_Skylan? Oh gods, what's going on, _Ryland thought. Even as he worried about this, the majority of him was glad that Ezreal was okay.

_I'll explain, _Ezreal responded. _Or they will. _His demeanor was slowly returning to normal.

Ezreal got to his feet – knees still shaking – and bowed. "Thank you for sparing us. Thank you all," he added, gesturing to the Aitah's men. "We are blessed – _archiar - _by your peace and mercy. May spring sleep on your doorstep forevermore."

Ryland shook his head. _He knows everything. Every tribal custom. This is unbelievable. _

Most of the men were above six feet tall, clothed in dark furs, soft scarves and thick boots. The Aitah was taller than Ryland, his shoulders bulging even in his loose, silver-furred wraps. His blue eyes glittered appreciatively at Ezreal's blessing.

He chuckled. "Kill the Lightbringer? My house's hearth would be cold and my store empty for many winters."

"In the spirit of honesty, I confess that I am not Aven Lightbringer. I would not deceive your men. I and my companion are travellers, drinking in the beauty of the Freljord."

Ryland's eyes widened. _What are you doing? Now they're really going to kills us!_

_Ryland – just trust me. I know I haven't given you much reason to, but please._

The Aitah boomed laughter that seemed to echo from mountainside to mountainside. Behind him, his men also began to laugh.

"Oh, my little one. There is no single Aven Lightbringer. You are born through every time again and again, part of the wheel that turns the sky. For this time, you are he. I am honored to meet you. Not every Aitah gets the chance."

Ezreal felt the chief hesitate, then overcome his fear of their auras and grasp Ezreal's forearm in a warm gesture. He did the same with Ryland.

"You, Aven, come in all different forms. Sometimes you know your identity, but often not. But always you carry the sun on your back."


	23. Lightbringer (Part Two)

Lux curled up beneath the tree in the Supports' Atrium, one of Ezreal's books in hand. It was a very dense text – full of charts and numbers – explaining how artifacts correlated to tribal religions. She didn't understand most of it, but she could sense Ezreal's voice behind his written words.

It comforted her.

She, Garen and Shyvana hadn't been severely injured in the blowup two weeks ago. Taric and Nami assured her that the baby was fine.

Since then, Lux's days had taken on a soothing rhythm meant to promote feelings of calmness to the child within her. She meditated in the morning, ate a healthy lunch, and took a long walk around the Institute in the evening.

At night, she read Ezreal's books by the flickering torches in the Supports' Atrium. The moon and stars shone through the glass ceiling, and the cracked windows let in the night air.

Some of the pages were spotted with tears.

_How could I have called him immature? Tell him he was too young to be a father? He's a genius. _

Words couldn't describe how much she missed him. She found herself tracing his portrait at the end of each book for hours on end.

She missed all of them – Soraka's laugh and Kat's devilish grin. She even missed Ryland – strange Ryland, who obviously envied Lux so much. After learning his father was Darius, and meeting his cold bitch of a mother, she almost wished Ryland could have Ezreal.

Almost. Ezreal was still hers.

Taric tapped her lightly on the shoulder, spooking her. He bowed. "Sorry to scare you, Luxanna. Garen wishes to speak to you."

_So here it is at last – the actual decision of Demacia's fate._

She rubbed her stomach unconsciously for reassurance. "Yeah, I'll talk to him. Why did he even ask permission?"

"I imagine it's a rather serious discussion." Taric met her eyes. He knew exactly what it was about. "I'll go get him."

Lux nodded and put her book aside. She stroked the grass, enjoying how soft and velvety it was beneath her palm.

Yesterday, Lulu had told her why the tree was in the Supports' Atrium at all. When the Institute was first being built, the artisans noticed the tree emitting silver light at night. They thought it was a prankster. Soraka informed them that it was sacred – perhaps even home to a forest spirit. So they built a circle of rooms and pavilions around it, and covered the tree in red ribbons to gain its blessing.

Lux was glad they'd kept it. She and the tree kept company together a lot lately.

Garen approached her hesitantly. His bandage was still wound lightly around his head.

He perched beside her without looking at her. He wasn't wearing his armor, and it looked like he had lost weight. They waited in silence.

Lux sighed. "Go ahead and say it, brother."

"You're pregnant."

"Yep. And before you ask, it's Ezreal's baby." She picked her book up and used it to fan her face. "I've had this conversation quite a few times, so I know the script."

"Peace, Luxanna," he said softly. He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Who else have you spoken to?"

"Zandred was one. He ultimately decided I could remain at the League."

Garen nodded. "Even if the Institute won't pay you, we have money enough to let you stay."

Lux looked at him, surprised. "You – you aren't upset? Did that knock on the head scramble your brain?"

"Lux – you know I love Demacia. I do. It's my home. I love it the way you do. Or used to."

It was Lux's turn to nod. "Yes, I know this."

"Well, I'm not going to lecture you about your duty to your country. I think Shyvana did enough there." He touched his wound and winced. "Ultimately I support what makes you happy. Part of being a good Demacian citizen is having loyalty to your family. So I do."

He kissed her cheek. Lux hugged him hard. "But, regardless of what I support, it's still Jarvan's decision. And you know that. If he forces you to marry him…well…"

"Garen…" Lux squeezed her book. "I love Demacia too, but I don't want to rule it. I don't want to be Queen. I'm the opposite of Ashe, Sejuani and Lissandra."

"Jarvan can't ascend the throne without a wife, Lux."

"I know."

"But," Garen said, "You should do whatever makes you happy." He looked away, through one of the large windows into the night. Ziggs was putting on an impromptu fireworks show, and the dark sky danced with thousands of silvery sparks.

Lux touched his shoulder. "You sound different, Garen. What's wrong?"

"This time off the Rift has given me too much time to think, and you know I hate thinking." He smiled grimly.

_Gods, I wish I were Ryland or Soraka right now, _Lux thought. _Something's wrong, but I have no idea what._

"So what are you thinking about?"

"I do what I do because I love Demacia more than anything. But – I think I might be attracted to someone I shouldn't be."

"Katarina?" Lux offered. There were many unfounded rumors that Garen and Katarina were a couple. Lux supposed people just enjoyed picturing them together – his huge muscles, her petite form.

"No." Garen gave her a blank look. "Diana."

Lux rubbed her tired eyes. Ezreal's charts and numbers flickered behind them. "I don't really know what to say to that."

"Nor do I. What I'm getting at is that I understand why you – you might need to be with Ezreal. I'm not saying I'd abandon Demacia for her. I'm just saying that I understand."

Lux suddenly realized why he was struggling. Diana wasn't Demacian, and Demacians were expected to date and marry within their nationality. That was part of the reason her pregnancy was so scandalous – Ezreal was from Piltover.

Lux touched Garen's shoulder. "Maybe we're creating a new dynasty. A new Demacia."

Garen stood up, his knees cracking. Lux had never seen him so tired, not even after their fiercest wars with Noxus. "It's starting to look like Noxus," he said bitterly.

* * *

"Set up camp," the Aitah said. "Tonight we rest."

Ezreal watched as the men began pitching fur tents. A few brought out huge iron kettles and began scooping water from the lake. The youngest boys were in charge of lighting the fires.

Soon, a huge central bonfire was surrounded by a city of tents. The Aitah had his men bring the best blankets for him and Ryland, their softness warming them.

The smell of roasting meat arose from the camp. Ezreal's stomach growled voraciously. He could hear Ryland's gurgling too, even over the noisy preparations.

The warriors brought the first two slabs of finished meat, their eyes examining his and Ryland's auras curiously. Though Ryland gobbled the food down immediately, Ezreal checked it for poison, more out of habit than anything. The spices were exotic, but not deadly. He, too, wolfed it down.

They were also offered rough biscuits, which tasted like heaven, and juices derived from the bitter fruits clinging to the lower branches of trees. Ezreal ate until he could hold no more, then wrapped himself tighter in his blanket and waited. He tapped Ryland awake when the Empath began to doze off.

_Why can't we sleep? I'm exhausted. _

_ There's going to be a story time. It's a major part of all oral cultures. It's considered highly rude to sleep during it, foreign guest or not, _Ezreal sent back. The Explorer hated to admit it, but he had missed his casual link to Ryland. It made communicating so much easier.

And it was a bit comforting.

At last, the Aitah wiped his lips and shouted something in his dialect. The noise ceased immediately, and every warrior dropped where he was standing. As the last noises of their revelry echoed off the mountains, the Aitah nodded and said "Aven Lightbringer and Skylan, would you hear our tale? The tale of how you two came into this world?"

Ezreal sought for the correct response, and where he'd read it. At last he said, "We would, Aitah, as thanks for your bounteous blessing." It wasn't quite the correct response, but the best he could do in Demacian dialect.

The chief sat back and cleared his throat. His warriors leaned in closer. Doubtlessly they had heard the tale before, but it was much loved by the people.

Ezreal glanced over at Ryland. His gray-green eyes were wide, fixed on the Aitah's face.

Ez swallowed a wave of guilt at how badly he'd been treating Ryland. He edged closer to him and put his head on Ryland's shoulder.

This sent a wave of quiet whispers through the men. The Aitah silenced them with a sharp gesture.

"In the first ages, the Aurora made her people. They were few in number, but fair in nature. She made people great and small, alongside forests, oceans and the sky. Back then, the people were all in peace with one another. There was so much land and enough meat that none wanted for anything. There were no tears or sighs of grief. Only smiles."

The Aitah winced, cracking his back. Some of his men returned with sticks of kindling and tossed them on the fire. He nodded his approval, then continued. "As we know, some men are suited to different climates. The fairer people came north, while others went south. As the tribes passed each other, they did not fight. They gave gifts of plenty and showered each other with love.

"The Aurora, even in her infinite beauty, is not perfect. She is constantly moving and shifting. This shift is what causes her endless beauty. It was one of these shifts that led to the creation of Aven Lightbringer and Skylan. Do you hear me?"

"Aye!" his men's voices rang out. Ryland nodded and put an arm around Ezreal's shoulders. Ezreal bit his lip. He remembered this story, and didn't think Ryland would like it very much.

"Back in those days, the Aurora was the only source of light. There was no sun and no moon, only her endlessly dancing light. She grew lonely and gave birth to a son she loved very much. Now he, too, was a source of light. He glowed with parts of her fiery power. Her love for him was evident in his every part. From his hair to his feet, he was fair. Hear me well?"

"Aye!"

"Aye," Ezreal said softly.

"The Aurora in her infinite wisdom created a group of people who were sensitive to the world – the Healers. They could talk to animals and cure the sick, read the skies for bad weather. But the ever-shifting Aurora had used much power in creating her favorite son, Aven, and one of the Healers was defective."

Ezreal felt Ryland twitch.

"This boy's emotions were different, strange. They were altered. Once upon a time, this Healer was standing by the vast ocean at the world's western edge, entirely in the dark. The Aurora had danced to the world's eastern edge, as it was wont to do, leaving parts of the world in darkness. This Healer longed to join the dark waves, to go down under the water. Is this the tale?"

"Aye!"

"I…" Ryland said softly. "I don't know." Ezreal closed his eyes.

"Then, over the horizon, this Healer saw a light approaching, a cheerful ball of energy and lightning. Aven glowed with the Aurora's love. This Healer – Skylan by name – saw Aven. Aven's perfection was far out of reach, and Skylan knew he would never obtain it. His love for Aven was counterweighted by the anguish of his own imperfections. And that was the First Sorrow."

The Aitah stopped and drank a large canteen of water. The camp was silent, save for the crackling fires. "Aven knew nothing of this sorrow, so when Skylan tried to grasp his love, he sprang away, laughing. And Skylan said, 'I need your presence. You burn the shadows out of me, chase the darkness away from my heels. My heart blooms with springtime when your light is cast upon me, or else my soul is as dark as the winter away from the Aurora.' And Aven responded - "

"'I am the light, and you are the dark. You can chase me all you want, but you will never catch me. This talk of shadows means nothing to me, for I am always in the light,'" Ezreal recited. This part of the tale was the same no matter which part of Freljord it came from.

The Aitah bit his knuckle, his eyes blazing with wonder. "To hear the words straight from the lips of Aven himself…This is truly marvelous. Would you tell the rest of the tale yourself, Aven?"

"Some parts of it may be wrong, for I am very tired."

"No matter. We would hear it." The Aitah bowed his head.

Ezreal tried to ignore Ryland's shaking. He said, "And Skylan responded, 'You are perfection itself. Can't you see that I adore you?' And Aven said, 'I adore no one, for if I do, my love for all mankind is changed, and my heart funneled into one person.' And Skylan said, 'You can't love me back?' And Aven said –"

Ezreal swallowed hard. "'Why would I, when your parentage is naught but shadows and blood, as you've said? If you truly love me, chase me, for I love to run, even if I don't love you.' And the Aurora, seeing the darkness chasing the light, changed Aven and Skylan into the sun and the moon. And seeing the anguish of Skylan, she blessed him with a silvery light. But even if he glows, it will never be bright enough to make Aven love him."

The warriors murmured their approval. They applauded in their own strange way, by beating their hands against the ground.

The guilt returned to Ezreal when he felt how hard Ryland was shaking. He heard a muffled sob.

The trees around them began to glow silver. The light congealed at the tips of their branches like water, dripping onto the ground like dew. The drops exploded into small puffs of silvery smoke.

The grass, too, began to glow. The warriors around them gasped and began babbling in their Freljordian dialect. Only the Aitah remained calm.

It looked as if the entire forest were weeping.

The Aitah looked on Ryland with pity. "You may weep, Skylan, for it is a very sad tale."

Ezreal reached out for Ryland's mind. He saw nothing but a series of dark images:

_Of Merilyn tying him to a chair and beating him, then burning the bottom of his foot with a hot poker and threatening to scald his face with hot water because it was too pretty -_

_Of other children tearing one of his favorite Ezreal books apart –_

_Of one of his teachers pressing him against the wall, gagging him and molesting him -_

_Of Darrigan harassing him for his love of music –_

_Of himself berating Ryland on the tundra – _

"I didn't realize how bad the abuse was," Ezreal whispered. "Gods. Everyone hurts you."

He pulled Ryland closer, holding him. He felt sick.

"_It's true though, isn't it?" Ryland mused. "You're the light, I'm the dark. You're loved. I'm hated. You're on the inside, and I'm not."_

"There is another part to the tale, Lightbringer, if you would hear it," the Aitah interjected.

Ezreal ignored him. "It's going to be okay. "

Ryland's thoughts lashed out at him. _Everyone tells me all the time that I'm inferior. That I'm stupid, worthless –_

"You're fine, Ryland."

"The Aurora herself acknowledges that Skylan is the finest Healer and gives him the craft of music," the Aitah added. "And with this craft, he eventually becomes Aven Lightbringer's best friend."

"You just have to listen to the whole story," Ezreal murmured.

"But my parentage is blood and shadows."

"But I still love you."

Ryland shuddered, hiding his face in his blanket. "The story says you can't."

"It doesn't matter. I know it's true."

Ryland lifted his face from the blanket. Ezreal tried his hardest not to flinch. His friend's tears were made of silver light that rolled down his face, leaving twinkling tracks like shooting stars. He was weeping pearls.


End file.
